The Opposite of Sex
by DaDomz
Summary: Harry has just started his Seventh Year, and notices a few things he might not want to about Draco. His FEMININITY, for one. And if that weren’t enough, a spell gone wrong endows Draco with nightly feline urges, like finding a mate. *UPDATE 07/20/03*
1. Prologue

THE OPPOSITE of SEX

by: dadomz(Branw3n and Lestat)

Disclaimer: 

1.We don't own Harry Potter and company; they're ©J.K. Rowling's. 

2.We don't own the title either... this is ©psychobrat101's. 

3.We don't own the idea either... this is ©David Talbot's and the ©Traveler's Incognito's. Their asking for more fics of the type they wanted provoked us to make one of our own. 

Author's note: 

We're practically down to nothing, Just the words and a few grammatical errors. Big thanks to James, who would soon be reading this and to Michelle, who's been ever so endearing ([Lestat]: I sound like LILA! [Br@nw3n]: And that's what you get for reading too much Hey! Arnold fics!!!) and eager and to Quidditchgal 3 for treating us to those tens and thousands of delicious Chinese fried rice. 

Warning: 

1.We had placed this in the Harry/Draco category for a reason… although it's not thoroughly slash. 

2.For Harry/Hermione shippers or Harry/Ron slash shippers or for Draco/Hermione shippers or Ginny/Draco or Harry/Ginny shippers, All we would like to say is that we hate this pairings. 

3.This, is our last warning, assholes! (Br@nw3n: Lestat! Watch your pie-hole!! Or better yet, shut your trap!) We have a little… okay; maybe a lot of grammatical errors… (Br@nw3n: We both failed our English classes! L ) if you don't like the sound of this, hit the back button and thank you for visiting. 

4.No, there're no Mary Sue's here… 

P.S.= Flames would be used to cook our breakfast. BEWARE FLAMERS!!! (Br@nw3n: Yeah, right, Lesty! *snorts* As if we could cook!!! Unless you've been keeping that talent from me! Almost burned down our Home Economics lab, we did!)

PROLOGUE: A Little Conspiracy

~ 10 years after Graduation ~

Sirius Black lightly tapped on the majestic oak doors before him, vines of ivy etched on the fine wooden paneling. He gave out a hesitant, melodramatic and hopeless sigh before turning the brass doorknobs attached to the enormous door and entering the ridiculously large room. The light albeit overpowering scents of cinnamon and vanilla that filled the lavender chamber wafted over to him, reaching sensitive nose, causing him to wrinkle it in disdain. He then blindly reached out for the light switch, which was usually located beside the door and flicked it, causing the dull lighting to fill the room. 

He tip-toed towards the enormous queen-sized four-poster bed, carefully and stealthily pulled back the drapes and groaned as his gaze caught and held a pair of oddly startling green orbs.

"You should be asleep by now!" Sirius whined as he flopped down onto the mattress, glaring at the 7-year-old sitting upright beside him. The little girl offered an innocent grin, as if it would answer his unbearably simple question as she amusedly stared at Sirius, who was by now ranting through her hauntingly familiar emerald eyes. "If you're not going to sleep, I'm never taking you back to Hogwarts with me… ever!" 

"Idle threats, idle threats," the little girl chanted, giving him an annoyingly irritating 'know-it-all' smile. "I told you, I'm not sleepy but if you could tell me a really, really good story..." she faked a yawn, to add emphasis to her dramatics. "I might fall asleep right now and you will be free to roam about the house tonight…on all fours." 

"A story…" Sirius sighed, scanning his brain for a vaguely familiar tale to tell the irritating but lovely child who cuddled up next to him. "What about the three little dogs-"

"Pigs," the little girl corrected, rolling her eyes at the ignorance of the tall man whom she had enveloped in a hug. "But that's getting pretty boring, you've been telling me that story over and over again ever since I was three!" 

"What about…um…" he trailed of, wracking his mind harder, searching for a fairly decent story to tell the child as he circled an arm around her shoulders, hugging her. "Oh, blimey! I've gotten it! About that girl with golden hair! Now, what was it? Right! Goldicurls and the seven dwarves?" 

That excreted a slight giggle from the child. "Goli-**locks **and the **Three Bears**," she emphasized, correcting him. "And I'm tired of that story and it always makes me hungry for porridge!" 

"Little Mermaid?" 

"Too, what was it?" she frowned, grasping for the right adjective. "Mummy called it too sappy." 

"All right, then smarty, what about Sleeping Beauty?" 

She wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Yuck! To click-che!"

"Cliché," he chuckled as he corrected her, doubting her knowledge, unsure if she even understood the word. "Well, then, Lilo and Stitch?" 

"Uncle Sirius! I just saw that on HBO!" 

"Alright, Alright… Beauty and the Beast?" 

"Be a bit more real-istic!" 

"Be a bit more of a smart-ass, why don't you?" he countered, not really caring if she heard him say the word 'ass', knowing full-well that she used the supposedly 'banned' word herself. 

"Watch your language, you're in the presence of a seven year old!" she flashed her trump card, sure that he would never suspect that she'd use it." 

Sirius looked up in the ceiling and stared at the magickal roof, a painting of the sky outside artistically and perfectly duplicated onto the child's roof. "It's going to rain, I guess…" Sirius sighed as he tried to uselessly to prolong the time before his looming defeat. In the hands of a seven year old, no less! But it was useless to fight it, so as a sign of yielding, he reluctantly asked, "What kind of story do you want?" 

"You talk less about mum and dad and more about yourself, not that I don't like hearing about your little escapades, but other than mummy and daddy Graduating together and then falling in love, there hasn't been much you told me about them," the little girl's brow furrowed in contemplation, then a wide grin appeared on her face, causing Sirius to let out another groan. "Maybe you can start talking 'bout them… I want a **love** story, and you make it good!" 

Sirius stared at her. "Aren't you awfully young to hear love stories?" 

"Aren't you a little bit too desperate to get me to sleep?" The little girl raised a royal ashen eyebrow. "Now if you want to get me asleep, you'd better tell me" 

"It's a long story!" Sirius complained. "Really, really long! As long as that Chinese Wall!!!" 

"If you'd stop and start telling me, then it wouldn't take that long!" The girl prodded, tickling him, trying to get Sirius to understand her childish yet reasonable logic. "Tell me!" 

"There's nothing much to tell!" he tickled her back.

"But you said it was a long story!" 

"Well then, I lied!"   


"If you won't tell me," she put on a threatening growl. Not really as impressive as her mum's but looked and came out just the same. "I'll tell mummy why the scarlet satin quilt with a light dusting of sparkling silver and gold dust was torn to little pieces with no culprit and I'll tell on Uncle Severus-"

"Tell me what?" A voice drifted in from the open doorway. 

Sirius graoned. Just his luck to have his least favorite living person in the world walk in on him, to revel in his failure, as always.

Severus entered the vast chamber.

"Come to revel in my humiliation once more, Severus," Sirius lashed out, trying to be as civil as possible.

He stared at Sirius, a maniacal and triumphant glint in his eyes as he shook his head. "You really don't know anything about baby-sitting, do you, you big oaf?" 

"I was about to tell her a story, about how her parents met," Sirius pointed at the little girl. "And now, if you'll excuse us-"

"I think I'll stay," Severus took a mahogany chair, which had been displayed on one side of the room, dragging it before the bed and easing himself onto the silk coverlet. "In case you mutilate some parts, with your miniature brain, it would explain your meager memory span." 

"Are you insulting me?" 

"Does it seem like I'm insulting you?" 

"Yes." 

"Then, it is."

"Will you the both of you childish prigs stop?" the little girl immediately sat up, tucking a loose strand of white-blond hair behind her ear as it came undone from the strict bun she tied her shoulder-length mane into each night. "Daddy must've been right when he told mummy that you both act like ten year olds." 

Severus sank back into the plush feather-light and feather-soft chair, rested his elbows on the armrests as Sirius sank back into the little girl's bed, burying himself even deeper in the satin bedcover, light silk sheet and velvet comforter and stared at each other coldly. 

"You start," Severus mumbled coldly, as he fidgeted with his robes, avoiding eye contact with the little girl and Black.

"No, I insist, you start, smarty pants," Sirius rolled his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the little girl. "I haven't got anything to say anyway, me being stuck in Azkaban for thirteen years and all, remember?" 

"No, really, you know your Godson so much better, you can tell her about him while I tell her about her mother."  


Sirius sighed and looked at the little girl, then gave in and started the beginning of what would be an absolutely lengthy tale.

He was getting soft in his old age, letting Snape force him into telling the agonizingly agitating account. (A/n: Alliteration!!! Take that evil English teacher!!!) "Well, your father… he survived some curse and he became the boy who lived and his parents died… he was living with his mother's sister who married this fat ass and then, they started keeping Harry under the cupboard. 

"When he was eleven, he got the Hogwart's letter, the same one you'll get in…" he trailed off, trying to count the years until she would be sent off to Hogwarts, but failed miserably. "Um, that's not important."

Severus snorted and Sirius glared. "At least I know how to wash my hair!!!"

Snape was about to reply when Sirius started talking. "Anyway, that isn't important and that's when he knew he was a wizard and he had two best friends… you know, your uncle Ron and aunt Hermione-"

"The couple with a million children," Severus clarified for the little girl as to which she stuck her tongue out and prodded Sirius to carry on.

"And then… he had an enemy-"

"What's the significance of his enemy? Is he connected to mum and such? Like cousins, friends…?" she interrupted. 

"Yes, he's important and he's connected to your mum… much more than cousins…" Snape smiled. "But let's start talking about him for if it were not for that child, you would not have existed, nor would your mother…" Then a faraway look reached his eyes as he continued. "He was such a sweet little boy-"

"Sweet my arse-"

"Looked like your mother too… gray eyes, blond hair, pale skin…really intelligent little boy, he was, loved to taunt your father and make him look insipid and such but since, we know so little of him…"

-----* * * * *-----

Flashback 

-----* * * * *-----

__

I could just remember him as if he were standing before me, patiently sitting before a vast mahogany table that nearly consumed his tiny frame, reading a thick book, advanced for his age, he was, while his father repeatedly polished the Galleon's stacked with delicate care in the family vault. His name was Draco… 

Draco stared at the complicated words on the book in front of him, brow furrowed in consternation and puzzlement, wide gray eyes, colored blue due to the lighting, blinked rapidly for a few moments before grabbing the thick tome and swaggered over to his father's enormous study.

He gently rapped on the beech doorframe, diligently waiting for his father's consent. 

"Come in." 

He pushed open the door and pointedly ignored the mobile paintings of his dead ancestors. Delicate chin held high, he trotted past them and scrambled up the velvet upholster of the chair situated before his father's gigantic table. 

"Good evening," he greeted his father politely.

"What brings you here?" Lucius tugged on a big book located on the towering shelf. "I this visit doesn't entail your asking me of a new broom? What was it? Oh, yes a Comet 160. As I had told you once, you are extremely young to go own and operate a broom." 

"Daddy?" he asked, grinning innocently. "I was wondering, this book here…" 

A frown adorned Lucius Malfoy's face. "Draco, how many times have I told you to call me father-"

"Because we are a highly respected family, though the manner of how we refer to one another gains us nothing but odd looks-"

"Odd yet extremely appreciated looks!" Lucius slammed the book he had chosen onto the table's polished surface as he wiped the tiny beads of sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. "Besides, we've been known to be aristocrats." 

"I know," the little boy sighed as he tugged at the heavy book. "This human anatomy book….has got me wondering…" 

"Well?" Lucius prodded as he pulled his son onto his lap. "What's wrong with this anatomy book?"

"Nothing, I reckon, I just have a few questions that need immediate attention… Father… Am I a boy?"

Lucius' eyes widened at an alarmingly fast rate. "What makes you think otherwise, boy?"   


He shrugged. "I was skimming through the book and I had a yearning so I flipped through the pages and stopped on a page where the male physique was explained and I looked at the different organs and well, to be blunt, father, I just don't see the right reproductive organs and-"

"Aren't you a tad too young to view this…this book of nonsense?" Lucius abruptly shut the huge book. "You are a boy, this is a Muggle book… remember that." He tossed the book out the window. "You shouldn't trust what are in Muggle books, they're filled with nothing but rubbish, just like the author's head."

"Rubbish," he chanted, a smile creeping up his lips. "Rubbish…" 

-----* * * * *-----

End of Flashback

-----* * * * *-----

"And that's how I remember it…" Snape stared at Sirius. "But you never knew until Harry was in his 7th year." 

"No, fortunately, or unfortunately for that matter, I knew that he was different as Harry went through his 2nd year," Sirius grinned, one-upping his opponent. "And you think you're the only one who knows everything around here." 

"I knew Dumbledore knew…" Snape shrugged. "How'd you know when you' were locked up in that dratted prison where you still deserve to be…"

"If it weren't for him, I wouldn't've been able to get out of Azkaban and if it weren't for his father, I wouldn't have known about the scum on Ron's shoulder…"

-----* * * * *-----

Flashback

-----* * * * *-----

__

I was feigning stupidity; staring at an unoccupied stool situated on one side of the cell, allowing passing visitors to deem me as one of the countless others who have lost their minds, gone deranged-

"You still are," Snape reminded.

Permitting the passers-by to typecast me as any other insane inmate…Y'know, I really didn't tell Harry everything, kept some of it to myself… I didn't tell Harry what had actually happened… I made a promise, to myself…

Sirius Black sighed and ran his yellowed and chipped fingernails through his unruly, unwashed, dirty hair. The menacing Dementors had just made their rounds and it took all of him to keep himself in contact with that fine line which separated the sane from the mentally unstable and borderline psychotic.

His will kept him going all these years, but his strength was faltering. He knew it and he was absolutely certain that the Dementors knew it too.

He had to get away from here. He had to stay alive, if not for himself, then for Harry.

He had made a promise, one he was intent on keeping.

But he knew that he couldn't keep it up.

Eleven and a half years of strengthening and honing his mental shields to keep his own soul was wearying.

If the Dementors wouldn't drive him insane, then he was sure the isolation would.

He hadn't used his voice in two years, and the last time he had seen another living human being, it had been the new Minister of Magic.

A smug prick of a man, he was.

He cringed at the thought of Cornelius Fudge, the ostentatious and too self-assured head of the British Wizarding Ministry.

The wince deepened as he heard boisterous voices echoing through the 

"But father, I swear… I passed all my homework; the teachers just hate me…that short fat Professor, I think it was Sprout, no, I'm sure it was Sprout, pointedly asked me if **I** was the Heir of Slytherin!"

"That's absurd! Draco, the heir of Slytherin isn't coming back you know."

"It had father, it did… and Potter stopped it again, as usual. I could've stopped him myself but nobody really gave me the chance…" 

Sirius turned and raised his head. He growled as he saw Lucius Malfoy's ostentatious form, a smug and amused albeit disgusted grin plastered on his lips.

"See son, this is what would become of you if you don't-"

"IT'S SIRIUS BLACK!" A young boy leaped out from behind him. An exact copy of Lucius Malfoy, the boy was. Draco-_his name was, I think_-exclaimed, smiling jubilantly. "What a wonderful end of the year present father, seeing somebody who had attempted to kill my enemy." 

"I didn't bring you here to revel in an attempted murderer's presence, mind you. I brought you here to show you what would become of one if they refuse to study, they'd become scum and a sought out thug."

A confused look passed young Malfoy's features, before he hesitantly queried, "But father, why aren't **you** here?"

From behind the iron bars, a chuckle escaped Black's lips as he reveled in the witty child's presence and Lucius Malfoy's fuming expression.

Black could swear that smoke was coming from his ears. 

"Draco…" he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, alright, father, but can I stay here, a little longer?" Draco quickly pleaded, delaying the impending lecture he knew was to come. "I promise, I'll stay just outside of his little cubicle, out of his grasp and don't worry, he won't be able to hurt me." 

His father was pensive for a moment. Then he gave in. He could never really tell the child no. 

"Alright," Lucius sighed. "Give me your wand, wouldn't want him out of here." 

Sirius growled and sat down, trying to look savage as Lucius walked away. He decided to twist the little boy's mind until the brat would be scared to death of him.

"Do you know that I'm very dangerous?" 

Not a very good start, but not a bad one, either.

"Of course," Draco smiled as he sat down. "I also know what you're capable of and the benefits I would receive if I were to release you…" 

Sirius scratched his head. So much for frightening the child. "You mean, you can help me get free without being detected?" 

He nodded. "Of course, if you promise to deter this, this, enormously insipid twig!" He extracted a newspaper article from his robes and directed the convicted murderer's attention towards the second tallest young boy in the photograph with a rat perched on his shoulder. "Scare the wits out of him and you're free." 

"That's it?" Sirius grinned as he made a grab for the article, recognizing the cowardly traitor on the boy's shoulder. "For freedom?" 

"Yes, since I'm kind and such…" he muttered to himself then leaned down to whisper in Black's ear. "See, Dementors are vapid creatures and they don't sense animal propinquity so…if you're an Animagi…then you're lucky. 

"When the Dementor comes in with your food, you could transform and get out of here… and they won't sense a thing." He smiled. "How's that for a plan?" 

"Well, It's not that good but I think it's worth a try…better than nothing," Sirius grinned. "Anything else?" 

"Did you really kill Peter Pettigrew?" He asked. "That's so cool" 

"Why don't you just wait and see…" Sirius expression was grim, threatening, almost. Draco shrugged and looked around his little cubicle. 

"Not one of the coziest places in the world," he reprimanded. "Well then, I'll be dreadfully excited to hear about your escape…" 

"Draco?" Lucius called out. Draco turned around and stared at his father. "Hurry, we have to rush to Knockturn alley, there're things I want to trade and the like." 

"Okay," Draco mumbled. He walked slowly out of the cubicle. Sirius, desperate for more information, quickly pulled on Draco's robes, only to pull it down. "What the-"

"Whoops!" Sirius stared at the clothes. The shirt was made of raw silk and… a… **pleated skirt**? Lucius eyes widened as he gathered up the robe. 

"We're Scottish, this is a kilt," Draco regarded the skirt. "I hope there is no confusion here in your part, Mr. Black. Good luck" 

__

Scottish my arse. 

-----* * * * *------

End of Flashback

-----* * * * *------

"Liar!" Severus jumped up. "Draco would never go to Azkaban or Lucius you to him…you're located at the top most tower with more magickal guards and Dementors than there were Death Eaters!" 

"Doesn't mean they can't visit me… I don't know why and I don't know how but all I know was that… I owe my freedom to this young … whatever." 

"They really are Scottish," Severus smiled. "They have a manor in Scotland." 

"And one in the south of France, in Madrid, all across Europe," Sirius smugly pointed. "So, are they French, Spanish, Irish, Greek, too?" 

"Can you two please just get on with it?" the little girl bounced up and down on her bed, excited. "I don't really know what this story has got to do with my father and mum… I also wonder about this enemy, his bewilderment of his gender and his cross-dressing tendencies." 

"But it wouldn't really be a good story a bit of background, luv," Sirius smiled adoringly at the young child. "Besides, I don't have to tell you anything about your father when his life has been written in Dark Art and History books all over the world in different languages." 

"And besides, there's nothing really much to say about his life except, that he was an orphan living with the biggest Muggles imaginable and that he defeated the dark lord… the end." Severus summarized. "There's really nothing much to tell, not much excitement and not so much water works, it's all action and all adventure, not the love story you've been wanting, luv." 

"Isn't that what youngsters today like?" Sirius asked. "Action and Adventure?" 

"I think they prefer Romance, as what Uncle Sev said, now will you get on with it?" The little kid grumbled. "I really don't think that it's important to discuss this whoever's life. The only thing I really wonder is that why he calls Grampa father. But that's all inconsequential, though, so get on with mum and dad's story."

"I don't know where to start… do you know where to start?" Sirius questioned Severus. 

"Ask her to ask us a question, maybe we could answer it or dodge it," Severus shrugged. 

Sirius nodded. "Works for me… So… Have any questions? Just a little plot line?" 

"When did they first meet?" she asked tilting her head to the side, acting like her usual adorable self. 

"I think it was school" Sirius shrugged. "7th year?" 

"No, it was before that…we don't accept transferee students" Severus corrected. "Remember? Or has prison knocked out all the trivial knowledge in your tiny brain?" 

" I remember, and sod off! But It was the time I guess when they got to know each other or noticed one other," Sirius shrugged. "I just thought so… well when did they meet then?" 

"Knew each since First year?" Severus rolled his eyes. "When else?" 

"The story, the part where they met each other! It was in 7th year!!!" Sirius exclaimed. "How it all started chum? It was a dark dreary day…"

"I remember! They met even before that… I extracted this piece of information from Harry's head" 

"They did?" Sirius raised his eyebrows. "That's bloody awesome!"

------* * * * *-----

Flashback

-----* * * * *------

1986

Harry peered out of the tiny window set above the cupboard. It had probably been an architectural erratum. But that window had been his only glimpse of the outside world when he was locked up in his bleak prison-room, which was a constantly normal occurrence, for whatever task he would do, no matter how small or insignificant, would irritate his aunt and uncle to no end.

The outcome of the chore, successful or not, did not matter.

All that mattered was that every single move he made would drive them towards the brink of their sanity. 

Now, peering out the age-stained, dust covered window, he could see the dark gray clouds on the horizon and the damp grass that covered his relatives' lawn. He sat stoic and still on his rumpled mattress and did all he could to even out his breathing. 

Didn't want anyone to find out that he was being abused and hidden in the tiny cell that the Dursley's acknowledged as a cupboard but what he would like to think of as a room.

He could hear muffled footsteps just outside of his makeshift albeit permanent room/cupboard. He knew that he should follow orders and sit quietly in his room, but curiosity got the better of him and he leaned on the doorframe. 

"How nice of you to take time in your busy schedule to check up on our tiny yet thriving business!" Harry could almost see his uncle's broad grin and taste the 'eager to please the higher and mightier' attitude. "On behalf of my company, 'Grunnings', my wife and I would like to invite you to dine with us in that new Italian restaurant, a mile from here to talk about the business matters at hand" 

"Very well," He heard the man say. "Will it alright if I leave my child here?" 

"It would be our pleasure and honor," Harry heard his Aunt assuage. "Dudley will keep your adorable tyke company."

Harry sighed and peered through the little peephole on the door of his cupboard. The man nodded and placed his little child on an ancient-looking chair. The child, as he could see, was almost his father's doppelganger, the same shiny blond hair and high cheekbones. 

He watched as his uncle and aunt as they led the distinguished man out of their house through the front porch. He could barely see the little child since Dudley obese form had blocked the way. 

"I've got a big red train, it's this long and it's this big!" Dudley boasted. "My Aunt Marge from Majorca bought it for me!" 

"That's nice," the child replied, stifling a yawn. "I don't have time to play toy trains, though, so your boasting receives no interest from me." 

Dudley shrugged. "That's not all, Dad has took me to a fishing trip and we ended up catching really big tunas." 

"Oh," The child mumbled, feigning interest. "We don't eat tuna. I'm allergic with other kinds of fish except caviar." 

"Caviar? What are those?" Dudley twitched his nose. "I'm sure they taste half as good as tuna, though." 

The child shrugged. "They may taste half as good but it is the quality that is sought for. Caviar is fish eggs that only the rich and sophisticated eat, I see now as to why you would not have heard of it." 

Dudley stared at the little child. "Huh?" 

The child rolled its eyes. "A proper intellectual conversation is obviously beneath you. Why do I always get stuck with morons who are obviously below my level of intellect?" 

"Huh?" Dudley echoed again. "I don't understand what you're saying? Can you try speaking slowly?" 

"No," The little child mumbled. "How old are you? Why can't you understand? Are you mentally incapacitated?" 

Dudley shook his head. "The only part I understood was How old are you? I am 6" 

The child nodded. "Six? Are you absolutely sure that you're six? Your size more than confirms it but your mental capability contradicts such. There are quite a few words you can't seem to understand. Your mental capability is for a 4-year-old. Are you aware that I am younger than you?" 

"You're no fun," Dudley scratched his nose. "You speak like my mum and dad and you eat fish eggs and you're shorter than me!" Dudley shook his head and started to go upstairs. "If you need anything I'll be in my room playing with my shiny, red, sparkling, big, expensive and wonderful toy train." 

"Do whatever pleases you," the little child mumbled, stealthily walking around the Dursley's expensive Persian carpet. Harry sighed and backed away, knocking his little toys in the process.

The child straightened right away and tried to figure where the sounds came from. The little child paced around and finally trotted towards the cupboard. "Anyone in there?" 

"No one," Harry clasped his mouth and shook his head as he backed away and leaned on the wall. 

Non-relatives weren't allowed to know of his existence and he had just stupidly revealed himself to a child whom he was sure would promptly tell the Dursley's guest.

"Ha!" The child exclaimed. "Nice try but don't take me for a vacuous child, in fact, I'm a rather gifted child. My IQ's 170 and I was accelerated to 2nd grade" The child pulled the cupboard open. "What are you doing in here anyway?"  


"My uncle says I should shut my mouth and stay here just because he says so and it's proper since I'm not his child and I live here," Harry exited the cupboard, brushing the dust that had gathered on his bangs. "How old are you?" 

"I'm five," The child smiled. The child was rather, a she…wearing a plain white dress made of raw silk. "And you?" 

"I'm 6" Harry replied immediately. He seated himself on the steps. "That was my cousin, Dudley" 

"He's quite obese, isn't he?" She asked. "I have acquaintances, they're the sons of my father's colleagues. Probably his size maybe even larger and stockier." 

"Er… alright," Harry nodded. "So… where are you from?" 

"Scotland," She smiled. "So… You live under the cupboard? That's amusing, Even our house elves live in little quarters with twin beds." 

"House elves?" Harry asked shaking his head. "What are house elves?" 

"Pardon me, I haven't thought of you as a Muggle but then, what should one expect? House elves are little elves that work without wages." She let out a dramatic sigh. "Muggles are non-magical people." 

"Non-magical people?" Harry asked. "My uncle doesn't believe in magic, he says it's a bunch of rubbish." 

"Precisely," She interjected. "That's why you're all called Muggles because you all think that Magic is rubbish but without magic, you'd all probably suffer." 

"Suffer?" Harry mumbled. "I never really thought of that but now that you said that, I think I'll be remembering that." 

"That, that, that," She teased, amused by his redundancy. "In just a few minutes, my father will be back and pick me up." 

Harry nodded, staring out of the window. A few minutes passed before Harry looked at the little girl and found her pretty and being a child, said so. 

The little girl tore her gaze from the window. "Pardon?" 

"You're very pretty," Harry repeated. "Once, my teacher showed me a picture of different angels and you reminded me of one angel, the angel had yellow hair and blue eyes," 

"Oh," the girl nodded, slowly taking in the compliment. No one had really called her pretty, other than her mother, everyone else called her handsome, charming or horrible. So, being in a state of shock, she replied with a furrowed brow. "Ah! A little cherub with blonde hair?" She asked with a little smile. "Thank you, that will probably be the only compliment I shall ever receive from a person who is not my relative. Come to think of it, you're not all that bad yourself, not considering that horrific scar plastered onto your forehead and broken glasses covering those emerald orbs of yours." 

"That's me," Harry smiled sullenly. "I've gotten this scar in a car accident, my parents died while I survived, sometimes, though, I wish that I could've died with them." 

"There must've been a reason why you're living," she sympathized, allowing her head to fall in front of her. "The whole world's probably waiting for you, while I… I'll never be destined for anything except, maybe, bad faith, I don't know to what exactly, but that is what they tell me." 

"Bad faith?" Harry chuckled. "What in the world is that supposed to mean?" 

She shrugged. "Nothing, that's what my name means, though, anyway… there's this boy who has a scar not unlike yours on his forehead, too, and well, he saved a lot of people from dying and it is probable that I should meet him." 

"Oh," Harry shrugged. "You must be pretty excited to meet him, now?" 

She nodded. "It would be an honor to just be able to walk with him in our school or to just be acquainted with him, I'm not exactly the most likeable person in the world and well, it is very possible for him to abhor, hate, me." 

"But you're very pretty," Harry consoled. "This boy is going to like you, I promise, along with everyone in that place." He then stood up and extended his hand for the little girl to take. "Every boy is going to like you, even my cousin likes you and he's a really picky type." 

She girl took his hands and smiled at him. "What about you? Do you like me?" 

Harry nodded silently, smiling. She then tiptoed and gave him a peck in the cheek. 

"A first," Harry chuckled as the girl took a step back. 

"I hope I could give the boy who saved the Wizarding world a kiss like that when I meet him," She smiled shyly. "Or if not, Then I'd wish to be his friend." 

"He must be very lucky then," Harry sighed. "To be able to meet you, talk with you and be with you." 

She let out a laugh. "Can you see the irony of this? It's not like it's going to happen, He's direly different, we're from two different worlds. He's going to be in a different house, I know, feel, it." 

Harry stared, his confusion shining through. "Aren't all of you supposed to be not living in the same school?" 

She chuckled. "Not like that," she shook her head. "This school is different," 

She wiped the grime off the glass and stared at the approaching car. "They're here…" she removed something from her neck and palmed it carefully. "I don't have time to explain, you have to hide back into your cupboard now and here…" She took Harry's palm, opened Harry's it and let an enormous golden coin which hung from a satin maroon ribbon. "Keep this somewhere, my gift to you…" (Lestat: A total rip-off from GABRIEL'S ANGEL; where Tristan gave Alaina a whole new guinea! [Br@nw3n: *snort* There goes our originality, Lordy! We're gonna be in trouble in the upcoming chappies if we can't even cone up with something original this early on!])

-----* * * * *-----

END OF FLASHBACK

-----* * * * *-----

"Wow…" Sirius breathed, as if he were there with Harry and the young child. " What I'm wondering is that if Harry had the coin with him… Did he remember anything? Did he?" 

Snape nodded. "The coin wasn't a galleon, Black, the gold coin was the ancient coin that a particular Goddess held in her right hand. The Goddess was somehow one of the Malfoy's great ancestors and well, it's her heritage and she gave it to him and that's where our story starts…. 7th year…" 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

TBC PEOPLE! Thank you for those who are reading and for those who are planning to review but please don't review because you pity us. We write for the purpose of writing alright? Nothing's going to stop us. Au Revoir!

A/N: By then, you've probably figured out who the little girl, cross-dresser and gender-confused little child is. As if you haven't!!! You'd be pretty insipid not to have noticed. Blonde hair, gray eyes, child of Lucius Malfoy, large and stocky children of Lucius' associates (Crabbe and Goyle!!!) inspired by the Traveler's Incognito (Draco Dormeins-gender bender version!!!) oh, and the title, can't beat that!!! Opposite of Sex..

And before I, we, insult you further in this authors' note, please Review!!!! We promise that it is quite different from the gender bender version, though it may be the same cliched love stories you read on the Net but…(Lestat: Br@n, you're scaring off the readers/reviewers and dissing our story!!! Gr… can't persuade reviewers to save your arse.) [Takes over keyboard before Br@nw3n offends any more possible readers.] Don't mind the note above, just REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW 


	2. Chapter One

THE OPPOSITE of SEX  
  
By: DaDomz (Br@nw3nand Lestat)  
  
DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.  
  
WARNINGS:  
  
This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand. Also a R/Hr fic so be warned! Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.  
  
Chapter One: The Female Reproductive System  
  
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione Granger shrieked angrily, causing her face to attain a crimson pallor. "Do not dare try to reason yourself out of this! Don't you dare!"  
  
Harry Potter winced at her incessant screaming and glanced at his best friend, trying to see how he would react to her sudden outburst. As usual, though, Ron's eyes had glazed over, painting a faraway look on his features. He was enjoying this, Harry knew.  
  
Ron thought Hermione was quite pretty when she got angry and that that was reason enough for him to anger her.  
  
"Ron Weasley!!! Are you listening to me?!"  
  
Harry tried to suppress a grin as he saw Ron come out of his own world in a rather comical way, shaking his head and blinking his eyelids numerous of times before focusing on Hermione.  
  
This action seemed to infuriate her even more.  
  
"How could you not be listening?!?!?!?!?!"  
  
"Yes, how could he not have heard you? The entire Great Hall did," Harry muttered to himself, which Hermione had unfortunately heard.  
  
She turned to glare at him.  
  
Harry leveled with her, countering with a rather bored expression.  
  
She continued to glare and he, too, proceeded with his ennuyé expression.  
  
He wouldn't back down, Hermione wasn't his girlfriend, so it would absolutely be no problem to him if she stayed mad, Ron on the other hand, well. he couldn't speak on behalf on Ron. He returned his attention to the seething girl before him.  
  
He knew when he had her, her glower faltered, knowing full well that she had not that much power over him, so, she turned her scowl on the one of the numerous people she did have control over, Ron.  
  
He cringed as she reprimanded him harshly with another screaming fit, though Harry knew, from years of companionship with the red- haired boy that he absolutely loved every single moment of this supposed admonition.  
  
"Ron Weasley! You are absolutely hopeless!" Hermione finally screeched as she had finally had it with Ron's inattentiveness.  
  
She vacated the table in a huff, intentionally spilling a cup of pumpkin juice onto Ron's lap, not even turning around to bask in her triumph.  
  
Ron, expecting the 'accident' to happen, quickly caught the goblet with reflexes that got him his position as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, though he could not stop the inevitable drops of liquid that spilled down his front.  
  
"Bloody hell!" he swore.  
  
Harry offered a sympathetic smile as Ron snapped out of his daydream.  
  
"What is wrong with that bleedin' woman! Got herself all worked up about something!!! Blaming me for every single fucking problem that comes her way!!! As if it were my fault Snape deducted about fifty points from Gryffindor!!! He's a soddin' bigoted bastard!!! She should, no, does know better than that!!!"  
  
Harry raised a skeptical brow which Ron had apparently noticed.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Well, technically, the point abatement was your fault. You did spill that cup of hot cocoa on 'Mione's six-feet thesis which had fueled your rather boisterous 'disagreement' in Potions class which provoked me to interfere when you had threatened to pound Malfoy into a pulp which, in the end, caused Hermione's aforementioned point deduction, your ending up with four detentions for injuring Snape's favorite, a detention for me together with Malfoy for interference."  
  
"Oi!" Ron protested, frowning at his best friend. "I thought you were on my side!!!"  
  
"Didn't say I was on anybody's side," the bespectacled boy shrugged nonchalantly, as if this were a normal everyday occurrence, which it was.  
  
"But you didn't agree with Hermione."  
  
"Well, I'm not agreeing with anybody," Harry asserted. "'Mione just assumed that I was defending your nonexistent case."  
  
"Well," Ron shrugged. "That woman just about assumes that everything, every bleeding thing in this world is about her."  
  
"Your world does seem to revolve around her," Harry murmured, making absolute sure that Ron would be able to hear him.  
  
Ron stood up abruptly, face a mask of apallment (A/N: Not really a word but, CREATIVE LICENSE!!!) and disgust. "I do not have feelings for that.monster!!!"  
  
"The way you looked at her, she could've been a piece of steak, not a Death Eater."  
  
Ron's mouth opened to formulate a retort but his mind could come up with the appropriate comeback, so he resolved himself to sulking, propping a hand under his chin for effect.  
  
"Well, I admit, it was my fault, though not for the reason she thinks it is."  
  
Harry raised a brow questioningly and Ron purged on, "I didn't knock off the mug because 'Mione was screaming castigations in my ear, it was really an accident!!!"  
  
Harry didn't reply yet kept his eyebrow raised, giving Ron a pointedly unbelieving glance, Ron once again attested to his own reasoning, adding, "Don't give me that look because it positively was and accident! I wasn't even listening to that girl!!! Too busy cheering 'cause Germany finally beat Ireland for the World Cup."  
  
Harry smirked. "Too busy gloating over Seamus' dejected look, tell me if I had hit the mark on that one."  
  
"Go badger some other hapless sap, would you?"  
  
"Why don't you just apologise and put all this behind you."  
  
"Well, if you were being a good mate and actually lending your sympathetic ear to this bloke, then you would know that I've got no explanation to give her. At one point or the other she's going to want to bite my head off."  
  
"Then make up some ruddy excuse. It's you, for crying out loud! She'll eat up any excuse you give her. This little tiff, like all the others will pass, and you know it."  
  
"What justification can I give then, eh? You going to make one up for me? I'm going to stutter, mess it all up, Harry. I can't lie good, especially to her, she knows me all too well, better than I know myself, actually. Told me my left eye twitched everytime I lied, she did."  
  
"I'm not getting in between you and Hermione again. Saved your hide one too many times, I sure did. Just go and tell her the truth, then. Save you a whole lot of worry and trouble," Harry advised.  
  
Ron looked at him as if he had grown an extra head. "Harry, are you daft or just deaf? If I tell her I wasn't listening, that would just spur up a whole cluster of other trouble for me."  
  
"If you had just been careful you wouldn't be in this mess," Harry pointed out, wondering how the blame had suddenly been put on him.  
  
Ron looked hesitant, which caused Harry to sigh and rub at his face in frustration.  
  
"If it makes you feel better, I'll go with you, then, as long as you beg for her forgiveness right now."  
  
"All right, I guess that's fair, considering the fact that I can use you as a human shield and all."  
  
-----* * * * *-----  
  
"That couldn't've gotten any worse," Ron grumbled as he dejectedly walked down the hallway adjacent to the library where he and Harry had just been thrown out of by one very agitated Madame Pince who had been alerted by his and Hermione's rather boisterous argument.  
  
"At least she didn't curse us out of there," Harry tried to lighten the situation.  
  
"She's a teacher, she's not allowed to lay a finger on us."  
  
"I meant 'Mione."  
  
"Well, she did try to."  
  
"You have to consider her self-restraint."  
  
"She was about to before Pince dragged us out."  
  
"Then be happy since she could've done something drastic to our selves."  
  
"That woman will be the death of us."  
  
"Not exactly. Not really for me, I mean. Not as if I have any deeper feelings for her than friendship, so I probably won't die of a heart ailment if she decides to snub me for a period of time."  
  
Ron frowned. "What in the world are you talking about, Potter?"  
  
"The fact that you love her or something like that is going to make her being mad at you be pretty hard to deal with, for you."  
  
Ron jerked to a stop, face turning red, as he watched his best friend's still mobile form continue to cross the hallway.  
  
"I DO NOT HAVE FEELINGS FOR THAT.THAT WITCH!!!"  
  
His out burst was so tumultuous that it surprised Harry, causing the bespectacled boy to jerk around and try to formulate a reply, though before Harry could, someone ran into him from behind, inducing Harry to stumble backwards falling on top of the stranger behind him, knocking his glasses off in the process.  
  
"Oof!" he grunted.  
  
He and the stranger were sprawled on the floor, him on top and the person he had ran into under him. He was almost positive that he had crashed into a female, for the figure below him was too small and thin to be a male and that smell in the air.  
  
It was as feminine as hell.  
  
'She' smelled of apples and cinnamon, though there was another smell underneath it some hidden traces of a exotic and exquisite flower he just couldn't place yet its smell had awakened something at the back of his mind like some forgotten memory he had yet to rediscover.  
  
"Get off of me, Potter," the individual drawled, causing a chill of despair to shoot up through Harry's spine.  
  
Harry fleetly got to his feet, tottering a bit due to the abruptness in his movements. He felt Ron hand him his glasses and he thankfully perched them on his nose, therefore attaining a better view of his adversary.  
  
He was greeted by Draco Malfoy's intense scowl.  
  
"Ever heard of exercise, Potter?" he drawled, brushing imaginary dust off of his robes.  
  
"Ever heard of tape, Malfoy?" Ron bit back. "It would help control that overconfident mouth of yours."  
  
"Only as much as you have, Weasley."  
  
"At least I've been known to watch where I'm treading, you stupid sniveling git."  
  
Malfoy yawned. "You forgot the 'amazing handsome bouncing ferret' bit, Weasel."  
  
Ron fumed, apparently the brat had by now been immune to his insults. His hands clenched into fists and he was poised, ready to attack.  
  
But before any blood could be shed, Harry, who had halted in scrutinizing Malfoy for a moment, finally intervened by quipping, "You know, Malfoy, you look so much like a girl, and to make matters worse, you sure act like one, too."  
  
Malfoy paled, then a particularly bright shade of crimson rapidly took its place. "I will not stay and engage in conversation with both of you simple-minded simians."  
  
And with a snarl he spun on his heel and left.  
  
Ron, who had been laughing as the exchange had taken place, now clutched his stomach, wiping tears from his eyes.  
  
"That was bloody good, mate! He's been exempt from that ferret thing for some time now, but this, his femininity, that'll give him something to rage about."  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"Really, he does look and act like a girl."  
  
Ron shot him a rather funny look as they continued to walk down the hall.  
  
-----* * * * *-----  
  
There would be no way to describe a perfect dawn, except that its beauty was painfully gorgeous, orange and purple hues merging with one another serving as the perfect setting for the enormous and blinding ball of crimson that tinged the crystalline water forms before it with light ruby and topaz causing the water of the lake to glisten, as if it were made of thousands of luminous diamonds.  
  
It was to this beautiful scenery that Harry Potter had awakened to.  
  
Eyes squinting as he peered through the window situated beside his bed via glasses which were haphazardly perched on his nose, he noticed the tiny figures speeding around by the field.  
  
He groaned.  
  
"Shit! (A/N: I'm not absolutely positive if that word would be part of Harry's vocabulary but. Lestat said British people come up with the most swear words and that this would be part of it, take the Osbornes for example so.) We've got Quidditch practice! Today's Quidditch practice!" he exclaimed, frantically jumping out of bed and recklessly pulling out his robes, running a hand through his already sleep-tousled hair.  
  
"Ron's going to kill me. Second time that I bloody well forgotten about practice! Now, he's going to rile me about being the 'Great Harry Potter' and me thinking my head's so big that I don't need practice," he grumbled disdainfully to himself.  
  
He rummaged through his trunk and pulled out a pair of beige trousers, a size larger than his own would have been. It reeked of age and Harry was almost unequivocally sure that he hadn't worn that particular pair since he was five.  
  
Without giving it a second thought, another glance, he sped out of the room and stumbled down the stairs, intent on heading towards the Prefects' bathroom.  
  
-----* * * * *-----  
  
Draco carefully lined up the dozens of tiny bottles of shampoo onto the sink as he meticulously checked his appearance on the reflective surface and rubbed his cheek as a sign of frustration. He could never get his hair to position itself in the way in which he desired it to. He then looked at the door eagerly awaiting his companion's arrival, clutching at the dark robes he was wearing.  
  
He grinned, pulling out a strawberry flavored shampoo (A/N: Yes, flavored. Lestat wanted it that way. Crazy, said they could eat it as syrup. Wonder what'll happen when they sleep, won't they get eaten by bugs???) from the bunch.  
  
He carefully spilled the grooming product on the floor, observing a straight line from the door to the Olympic-sized pool of a bathtub that occupied one side of the room.  
  
He wrinkled his nose. "Damn, now I'm hungry"  
  
But he smiled, the thought of Parkinson sliding her way from the door and into a tub of icy cold water keeping his supposedly gone mischievous spirit alive.  
  
He then intently sat on a chair and stared at his nails, as if waiting for something to appear. Quite suddenly, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, hurried treads, too heavy to be a girl's. Draco's eyes widened as he tried to make his way towards the doorway but unfortunately, he was a tad bit too late, a smudge of black and green had suddenly emerged and instantly glided toward the edge of the bathtub, landing with a boisterous splash and even more clamorous but colorful swearing.  
  
Draco opened an eyelid to see that it had only been Potter and that his anxiety had gone to waste on such an undeserving subject. He rolled his eyes. "Seems my plan didn't go to waste after all, though," he shrugged and picked up the discarded trousers.  
  
"Trying to injure me?" A voice from afar asked.  
  
"If I had been intending to injure you Potter, then you wouldn't be able to stand there and talk to me."  
  
"How did you-" Harry sputtered, wiping the sweet smelling liquid off his face, wondering hoe Draco had known that he had been standing. The blonde hadn't turned around to face him anytime in the course of his entrance. Harry had decided it was part of the rat's senses and gave up. He didn't plan to receive a straight answer. "You should be thankful that I'm not in the mood to beat up something today and give me back my trousers!"  
  
Harry limped towards Draco. Draco shrugged and handed Harry his trousers. A glimmer of gold and silver that had fallen on the floor caught Draco's attention. He abruptly shoved the trousers towards the Gryffindor and bent down to examine the lustrous object.  
  
He quickly stood and gaped at the object he held in his hands.  
  
"Give me that!" Harry demanded, trying to reach for the shorter person. Draco seemed unperturbed. He stared at the coin for quite some time before raising his head and staring Harry straight in the eye.  
  
He raised the coin, allowing it to dangle in the air as he held the satin ribbon. "Where did you get this?" He asked softly, his voice tinged with a menacing tone he didn't even try to conceal, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. "How could you have managed to rummage through my trunk?"  
  
Harry stared at him, obviously thinking that the shorter boy had gone mad. "Give that back!"  
  
"Did you or did you not?" Draco demanded, adding a sneer for effect. "I know this ancient coin, I recognize it, it is one of our family heirlooms, part of the Malfoy family's heritage. I remember receiving this when I was four, I think. Where did you get this?"  
  
Harry glared at him, not really caring much about the coin, for he knew not where it had originated from and how it had landed in his trousers, though his intent was just to win this dispute. "It's mine, I didn't steal it from you. I didn't go rummaging through your trunk.you're an egotistical bastard to think that."  
  
"Then, that makes you an empty-headed kleptomaniac."  
  
Harry was about to voce out another comeback when he noticed Malfoy briskly exiting the premises.  
  
"Where do you think you're going? Give that back!"  
  
Draco turned, he was at the end of the hallway while Harry was positioned close to the portrait that served as the entryway of the bathroom.  
  
He raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing Harry's appearance. "Forget your pants, Potter or are you so daft that you don't have the means to don your own clothing?"  
  
Harry quite comically looked down at his now drenched boxers and colored.  
  
"Come any closer and I'll have you sued for sexual harassment."  
  
Harry glared at the Slytherin boy while Malfoy kept his countenance.  
  
Harry was the first to relent, despondently trudging back into the Prefects' Bathroom while Malfoy smirked at his retreating back, then looked back at the coin, something overwhelmingly familiar tickling the back of his mind. Something about the coin, something he couldn't quite place, something he couldn't quite remember.  
  
He shrugged and told himself that it was just disappointment at not getting back at Parkinson, yet the coin, it seemed to call out at him to remember.  
  
He quickly pocketed the object and left for breakfast.  
  
-----* * * * *-----  
  
Harry sighed, forcing his eyes to glaze over and ears to shut, not wanting to hear any more distasteful comments from his two companions, who were, as usual, bickering. It was the basis of their love for one another. Every single moment after their first meeting had either constituted of petty little quarrels or reciprocated snubbing, in time, it would get old.  
  
If not for the arguing parties, then for the spectators.  
  
So, he decided to busy himself with other things, better and more important things. He knew, though, of the consequences of his lack of focus, during some point in their conversation, he was sure, positive, that they would ask him of his opinion on the matter at hand, one which they wouldn't bother to elaborate, not helping his usually befuddled situation and pointedly ask him to choose sides.  
  
He didn't care, though. He usually reasoned himself out of the situation, taking the coward's way out; saying he needed to use the loo, or taking sides directly, saying that either Ron or Hermione was right, alternating the winner every time.  
  
They've never noticed it, though and it worked every time.  
  
He wasn't even sure if his opinion was important. It was just probably whose side he chose that was more relevant in their argument.  
  
So, he decided it was all right for him to plug his ears and focus on more significant things. What, he didn't know, but it would be a lot better than listening to the bickering couple.  
  
So he allowed his eyes to wander around the Great Hall, scanning the faces of his fellow students and teachers. His gaze landed on the Slytherin table situated opposite of him. He had decided to study the Quidditch players, examining them, looking for a sign of insecurity or apprehension or any of the like on their faces.  
  
But he saw nothing but Crabbe and Goyle stuffing their mouths; Zabini and Bulstrode heatedly discussing the chances of Trelawney committing suicide and predicting her own death in the process; Nott and Parkinson trying to engage Malfoy in conversation while he fidgeted with something under his robes.  
  
Harry seethed, remembering their encounter in the Prefects' bathroom the day before, where Malfoy took that coin from him. He didn't know why it angered him so much, he couldn't even remember from who it was from, but what he did know that it was important to him.  
  
He just didn't know why.  
  
And he decided, as he continued to glare at Malfoy, that he would extract his revenge on the field. He didn't know how, but he knew that he would succeed, that he had to succeed. His honor depended on it.  
  
He meticulously observed Malfoy, absorbing every single move and locking it away to memory, for later use and interpretation.  
  
Now that he actually really stared, not glared, at Malfoy, he could notice that the other boy did move rather gracefully, if it were the kind borne out of years of instruction or a natural elegance, he could not assimilate.  
  
His features were overtly feminine as well, the high cheekbones framed a face intrinsic of a winged seraph he had once seen in a gallery a long time ago, it had caught his attention for he had not seen a being that could even compare with its beauty. The blonde boy's golden locks shone silver in the early morning sun and brought a certain reminiscence to his mind. An old friend might have once had tresses that were as magnificent as his, but friends had been scarce in his life before Hogwarts and it would have been impossible for him to have contact with any other human outside of his relations.  
  
Malfoy lifted his head, his eyes caught the light, making the gray shine like liquid alloy as he faced Parkinson and went off in a heated tirade with the Slytherin girl as his target.  
  
"Er, Harry?" someone tapped his shoulder.  
  
"Uh, yeah?" he replied insipidly, taking his eyes off Malfoy and glancing at the girl beside him.  
  
"What's wrong?" Hermione frowned into his face, giving him one of her patronizing stares.  
  
His eyes went widely innocent, concealing his chagrin, "What are you talking about, Hermione?"  
  
"You, staring at something or maybe even someone down by the Slytherin tables."  
  
Ron, who had by now heard part of their conversation and had finally swallowed his food, joined them. "Leave 'im alone, Love, he's probably just sizing up the Slytherin team, though I can't imagine why, but whatever gets him through matches." Ron shrugged and returned his attention back to his plate.  
  
Harry decided to follow suit, that is, until Hermione once again pestered him. "Is it really, Harry?"  
  
He stared into her eyes and saw the concern in them, mixed with some other inexplicable emotion. Could it be that some of Ron's mischievous streak had somehow rubbed off on their friend?  
  
"Yes," he replied firmly. "It is."  
  
She shrugged. "Alright, then."  
  
Was it really, though?  
  
* * * * * 


	3. Chapter Two

THE OPPOSITE of SEX 

By: DaDomz (Br@nw3nand Lestat)

DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.

WARNINGS:

1.) This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand.

2.) Also a R/Hr fic so be warned!

3.) Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.

Chapter 2: Stark Frivolity leads to a Rather Contrary Enigma 

The rain fell in drenching sheets, hammering down on the corrugated roof of the locker room, roaring down onto metal gutters and splashing to the ground in a torrentuous melody. Draco Malfoy sighed, and stared out the window. From the locker room, he could barely see the pitch or the field beyond for it was cloaked in a heavy fog. This wasn't what he expected when he had arrived from the Great Hall. 

He groaned, if the rain wouldn't let up soon, the game against Gryffindor would be an even more formidable one. 

He rubbed at his forehead and suddenly remembered that he hadn't finished dressing himself, seeing as to he only had a striped sock on his left foot and nothing on the other. His lack of attire can be attributed to the fact that he was momentarily occupied, banging his head against the rough concrete wall and all. He was perched on top of a massive chestnut bench, one of many that dotted the Slytherin Quidditch team's Locker Room, muttering to himself in a foreign language which could be postulated to be French. 

He had his trousers on, impeccably ironed, his hair tousled and as if to affirm his total disregard for his appearance, he wore nothing on his upper half except his usual undershirt. The plain mahogany doors opened and a certain brunette entered. Draco bit on his nails nervously out of habit as he apprehensively stared at the looming figure, wishing to see the person he needed to speak to and concurrently wring that certain individual's neck. 

But it wasn't the personage he was anticipating. Instead, Blaise Zabini stared back at him, raising a bushy brow, shaking his own head and rolling his eyes. "Just a piece of advice mate," he scratched his head and tried to pretend that something interesting was situated out the window and turned back to the blond, smacking Draco's arm in one swift movement. "PUT A SHIRT ON!" 

"Have you seen Parkinson?" was his neurotic reply, staring at his now-chipped fingernails and disregarding the sharp and jagged edge of each. "That bloody pug will owe me more than her life when I see her!" 

"I guess she's coming," Blaise shrugged, his look was careless and the he stared back at Draco, caught himself and growled, "And for the last time, Draco, put a bloody shirt on! This isn't just the **boy's bathroom- wait, it isn't even a bathroom! It's a public place!" **

"Watch all you want, it's for free! Be the only time you'll be accustomed to see me half naked!" Draco declared standing up and raising his chin a bit higher than usual too meet Blaise's eyes. Blaise orbs widened as he shook his head, trying his best not to stare down at the shorter boy, reaching out with his left hand then shaking his head once again, eyes wide with contemplation and well... false disgust.

"Thanks but no thanks." He grumbled. "I'm not interested in either you or your body. Thankyouverymuch!" 

Pansy then chose that moment to announce her presence by singing very loudly and very off-key, intruding upon the boys' argument.

Draco, who, like the rest of the team, was used to her boisterous and horrendous voice screamed, running towards the witch. "Parkinson, you lousy cow! Give me back my beige surgical bandage!" He demanded, a hint of authority in his voice. "Give it back you harlot, you low scum maggot-riffraff, I want it right now or Slytherin is never going to win that blasted cup!"

He glared at her vehemently, as she tried to suppress a giggle but failed miserably and in the process ended up lying on the floor and laughing her arse off. Gregory entered with Vincent both engrossed in a friendly conversation about the inspiring book both had just read on how to overcome the trauma of being bitten by a flobberworm. 

Blaise was repeatedly polishing the handle of his broom while Millicent was busy combing her hair and dusting the ones from her cat off of her robes. Pansy was still laughing her arse off the floor but laughter had subsided into tumultuous giggles after a few minutes as she caught a glimpse of a pouting Draco on top of her. All of a sudden, he reminded her of a mischievous little elf that was tied to a chair which prevented him from moving about. 

"But Draco, you never did win us a Quidditch Cup," Pansy pointed out. "And besides, I don't really know anything about your watchamacalit, much less do something to it." 

"FYI! It's called a surgical bandage!" 

"You really have to stop watching American Muggle shows Draco, I think it's twisting your already misconstrued brain!" 

"I so do not watch those rubbish!" 

"Whatever loser!" she rolled her eyes, her finger and her thumb in the form of an L on her forehead.

Draco stuck his tongue out at her but proceeded to talk. 

"And I do have a better chance in winning this year, now that my pathetic excuse for a father has gone on a skiing trip to the Alps, therefore there is a lack of threatening letters and words as to not have my nerves worked up. And I assure you that this year that Cup will be right where it belongs, in my hands!  Because I deserve it as the victorious champion who was cheated out of conquest over and over again by a bastard... I deserve it not him, he doesn't deserve it because I do!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Draco," Pansy mocked. "Oh, wait, I think your redundancy already has! Though, I, on the other hand, think we'd even have a guaranteed chance of victory if you'd run around the Quidditch field in your grotesque nude form and in the process distract everyone rather than sitting your fat arse on that shiny broom handle of yours and being a pathetic excuse of a Slytherin seeker!" 

Draco's mouth hung wide open, his eyes widened. He gaped for a few moments until some sense was finally knocked into his head causing him to promptly shut it close. He glared at Pansy for a few seconds before rolling his eyes. "Fine then, you can look for another seeker if you think only my stark naked and repulsive structure can be captivating!" 

"She was only kidding," Blaise mumbled, not lifting his eyes off of his broom, seemingly engrossed in polishing the shellac off its handle. "Not that I care, alright. Not that your form is not incongruous and I don't even call that captivating but Pansy seems to envy your figure and constantly talks like I want to have Draco's figure because...you know, and shit like that in this really annoying voice." 

"I never said that!" Pansy glared, her face as red as a tomato. "I have my own figure to boast of! I'm slightly curvy and I am in other means, voluptuous and very, very arousing!" Draco rolled his eyes and sat at the chair while Blaise let out a loud and low snort, which gradually transformed into convulsive snickering. Pansy's cheeks sported two crimson spots as she fixated her evil squinchie on both Draco and Blaise. 

Draco suppressed a half-hearted victorious grin. "Now, keep telling yourself that, my lavishing, egoistic and *ahem* sensual puppy..." 

*-----*

"Aye!" Seamus ostensibly roared into Draco's ears. Draco glared at him as he rubbed his own ears in agitation, two solid hours in the field and they were down to zero on both teams, it must've been the hottest game ever played and the most intense. He could see his opponent's insecurity, the great Harry Potter, tugging at his shirt collars every once in a while. 

Harry was circling the pitch for what seemed like an eternity, trying to see a flash of gold or any thing like it but was rewarded with the sight of nothing for all his assiduousness instead. The only gold he could see was Draco's hair, radiant under the concentrated heat of the sun. Draco was sat slumped so low on his broom that one would've thought he was in the dawn of old age, slouching as if he were ashamed of himself. 

But then again, he had everything to be ashamed of; he hadn't won a single game in his entire life. 

Meanwhile, Ron was swinging his beater club with unwavering consternation, lost in his own little world; probably playing a game Harry deemed "The famous Quidditch beater of the whole universe, Mr. Ronald Weasley". But you couldn't blame him for his momentary mind game. The spectators had tired of cheering and some had treated themselves into taking some cold Pumpkin juice and probably some goodies. 

Crabbe and Goyle were still animatedly conversing about the newest and most recent book they'd just read- Jack and the Beanstalk, sharing their own points of view. Colin, one of the Chasers, had his camera tucked under his neck and was probably tired of clicking the camera (L: A FIRST!). While Ginny was quite busy staring at a certain Chaser to even pass around the Quaffle. 

The only people who were probably participating were Pansy, who was busy intercepting the bright red ball and passing it off to Blaise who in turn was invariably urging Adrienne, the Keeper, to resume guarding the Slytherin hoops. Seamus, Dean and Dennis were probably the only ones participating in the Gryffindor side, Seamus as the Ron's other half, Dean as a Chaser, constantly being riled by Ginny's actions, or lack of it and Dennis as the Keeper. 

Even the Bludgers seemed bored, lacking their usual vindictiveness, and were now moving slower than usual, not even bothering to attack anybody. Harry was busy, though, setting to observe the plans he and Ron had gone through in the early hours of the morning. He was to divert Malfoy's attention as often as he could and hope for the best after that. He and Ron just weren't good at scheming, at all. 

Their lack of plans, or lack of it, was a failure not because of their idiocy to not have thought out every single detail to the end, it was partly because if Draco for he had paid no attention to anyone and was busy checking his own nails, admiring how glittery they got under the sun's glare, a bit worried that he might freckle under its heat and suffer rashes for the rest of the week.

Finally, the moment they were waiting for had arrived. Harry caught the glimpse of a certain glimmering gold ball. He smiled at himself, assuming his own victory. He directly guided his broom towards the tip of one of the iron rings on the Gryffindor sideof the court. But his luck expired quickly as he noticed that he was racing side by side with his opponent's broom. 

Draco was apprehensive, striving hard to reach out for the luminous ball, the one that had shone in favorable inkling, the tiny thing that would ensure his victory and his father's admiration. He was tempted to move his elbow for inch, to knock the man beside him out of the game but he wanted a fair game, a tad bit more challenging and on his own terms. 

Harry stared at the broom handles, Malfoy's an inch further and closer to the estimated place. Harry shook his head and concentrated, he felt a certain and distinct rush of turmoil inside of him as he was pleading with God to allow him to beat the dragon beside him. 

They were about to reach the gold when it left instantaneously and without warning, sending both of them to pull back, causing their brooms to collide in mid-air. The two Seekers catapulted off their brooms and went airborne before landing on the soft and wet ground with a loud thump. Harry was situated on top of Draco, both too stunned to either move or speak. 

The piercing whistle of Madam Hooch's calliope brought Harry back to earth, where he could once again detect the all too familiar scent of apples, cinnamon and the other alluding scent, which to him was marvelous and beyond narration. He stared at the other boy, feeling a great wave of heat emanating off him as he drowned in a sea of ice. 

Almond-shaped eyes were wide with shock; Harry could almost detect the body stiffen. Their legs entwined with one another, his long legs strong and filled with muscles while this other boy's shorter more feminine legs were made of firm and pliant sinews but were rather bony and slender in structure. He could feel Draco's slight abdominal muscles contract as he inhaled together with some rather oddly big chest muscles that were too soft to consider as thew. 

The Slytherin boy's head was nestled in the crook of his neck, the weight not uncomfortable but a bit unsettling. His hands settled on the blonde boy's waist as he tried to pull him off but only succeeded in bringing Malfoy down onto him even more as the blonde tried to struggle out of his grasp. 

He shook his head repeatedly, trying to clear his head, pushing away the strange feel of Malfoy on him, feeling slightly lost and confused before an echo rang through his ears. "Get off me!" 

*-----*

The game had been cancelled. Though it was a close match, they had to stop on account of the commotion located in the field below. The two Seekers were brawling with each other, rolling around in the grass and succeeding in giving one another fractures which weren't really permanent and besides, it was raining once again and Quidditch was surely scheduled to be played on a bright and sunny day- according to Professor Trelawny. 

Draco stalked into his room, though his sullenness couldn't have been perceived for he walked as he had always had, slightly gliding on the floor mixed with an air of arrogant sauntering. His room was located in a secluded corner a few paintings away from the Slytherin Common Room. Tucked away in a corner where no light could penetrate his solitude.

His father had specifically asked for his own room, at first Lucius Malfoy had told his son that it was due to the fact that Malfoys were never supposed to mingle with such common rabble, he had even enlightened him with some twisted knowledge of him possessing his own room during his time at Hogwarts, which was absolute bull, as Draco had later surmised.

He threw himself onto his bed, reveling in the feel of the velvet on cool damp skin. He had not changed out of his Quidditch robes, too angry and disappointed at the game whose outcome was left undecided due to Potter's complete idiocy. He slammed a fist on the bed, the soft cotton enveloping his delicate fist, which only fueled his frustration.

He leaped off the huge bed, landing softly on his feet, kicking off his shoes and burrowing his feet in the ankle-deep silver bordered jade carpeting. He then walked to his oak desk, and with much exertion, lifted the heavy leather cushioned armchair and with a great deal of vindictiveness, threw it against a cool stone wall.

It did not break as he expected, and he growled, tears nearly springing to his eyes as he cursed out loud. Why did he have to be as weak as he was? As delicate as the world had believed he was. Why did he have to be **what he was? His palm balled up into a fist and at swiftly connected with the smooth limestone partition.**

He yelped in pain, clutching at his hand. When the pain subsided into an incessant throbbing, he brought it up to his face and sneered at the scrapes that surrounded his knuckles. It had reminded him of the bruises on his face, stomach and arms. Scars that Potter had given him. Scars which would take a great deal of time to fade.

He had not been rushed to the Infirmary as soon as he and the Potter boy had been separated. Pansy had tried to persuade him to have that Pomfrey heal him, but he did not want anyone to see that he needed any kind of help. He had long passed that stage where he feigned injuries for attention.

His father had not believed him and had finally had enough and had taken him by the ear and told him the **men _never got hurt and if they did, they never showed their pain. Well, he only lived to please his father and had complied with such a request, and who knew what Pomfrey might see had she looked under his clothes?_**

He frowned, shuddering, then realized the cause of his discomfort. He still wore his damp robes on. He quickly shrugged out of them, wincing at the stench of aged grass and humus. His frowned in consternation as another more powerful smell emanated off his robes. A particularly strong mint musk yet not so fervent as to overpower the odor of the damp Quidditch field and rain-slicked soil.

He grimaced at Potter's aura and hastily pulled off his sweater and stepped out of his soiled trousers. He made his way to his private bathroom, turning on the sink faucet and gathering the steaming hot water in his hands, splashing the scalding liquid onto his face, scrubbing at his skin until it turned red due to the friction, trying to rid himself of the grime from both the earth and Potter.

He lifted his head and scrutinized his appearance in the gold-framed mirror. Too long elegantly curled lashes cast shadows on porcelain skin, framing distinct hoary eyes, a refined nose with full crimson lips only contradict with what he was supposed to be, what he was **meant to be. He growled at his too feminine features, hating how they all came together perfectly, how he resembled his mother more than he did his father. His hair which now fluttered over his delicate jaw only seemed to confirm his lack of masculinity.**

He'd need a hair cut soon. If he was lucky, he could bother Pansy into doing it for him. She never did see the need to keep his hair precisely faultless. 

He snatched a towel off its holder and roughly scrubbed at his face, knowing that his epidermis would acquire a reddish tint to it, and in his view, make him seem unappealing. He re-entered his bedroom and laid his hands on the brass knobs of his wardrobe and pulled. It would not open.

The gods seemed to mock him today. He struggled with it for quite some time, banging his shoulder into the fine mahogany until he noticed the bluish-brown uneven sphere that appeared on his shoulder. He winced. Another bruise. He needed to be more cautious. His mother might decide to drop in unexpectedly and seeing him with so many contusions might cause her to meet with Dumbledore once more to firmly discuss her child's **delicateness. He shuddered at the thought of more special treatment.**

Yes, he loved his mother, but her over-protectiveness was embarrassing. Remnants of Pansy's mocking laughter still reverberated in his ears every time he thought of Hippogriffs and the way his mother had bullied Lucius into firing Hagrid because his idiocy had harmed her 'baby'. 

Pansy seemed to enjoy teasing him with her seriously lacking wit about his need to constantly keep Crabbe and Goyle by his side to assure his safety. That he wasn't *man* enough to win a fistfight.

He grunted. Screw her, at least *he* wasn't the one mooning over Zabini.

He took his wand from the discarded pile of clothing he had left on the rug just minutes ago. Muttering 'Alohamora' under his breath, he hurriedly threw the channeling object onto his study table, as if his using it to aid him in such a simple task degraded his manliness. Made him unworthy to be Lucius Malfoy's heir.

He paled at the thought. He would do absolutely anything for his father, kill for him, even. He quickly smothered that trail of thought, lest he eventually contemplate suicide. He pulled out a green cashmere sweater, expensive beige trousers and a pair of patent leather boots.

He put them on swiftly but with utmost care, ensuring that the fabrics had not a single wrinkle in them, should his reputation as a descendant of a still lucrative and old-blooded family be tarnished. He tugged open one of the drawers situated underneath the paneling for his shoes and grimaced at the sight of all those inappropriate garments. Sniffing disdainfully, he pulled out one particularly long, three-quarters of a metre, to be exact, silk wrap with wire and elastic hand-sown into the fabric.

He still had absolutely no idea an how to put the confusing garment on and usually needed Parkinson's help, though he'd deny ever saying he needed anyone's help, especially from that cow. He stuffed them into his robes, hating it as much as he hated Potter, though for different reasons, and proceeded to exit his room as he walked down the hallway and into the Slytherin Common Room, screaming Pansy's name at the top of his lungs.

*     *     *     *     *

Harry rolled his eyes for only God knows how many times, as Ron's ceaseless rant continued on from the Gryffindor Quidditch Locker Room, to the Great Hall, for the rest of the afternoon and now, as they were heading for dinner and once again into the Great Hall. He was complaining about the injustice of it all. Quidditch games were never supposed to be cancelled. And Hermione's matter of fact interjections about how it was *not* a real professional team that played out there, the Headmaster had all the right to postpone the game.

Then, he had gone on to rant about Draco Malfoy and the Slytherin boy's insipidity. Harry shared some of Ron's animosity but knew that the game was not entirely the pale teen's fault. It takes two to start a fight but if he hadn't retaliated to Malfoy's senseless, though not painful attacks, his reputation would have been ruined. Though it would have been easier and much less exhausting if he had just taken the Slytherin by the wrists and pulled the slight boy off him.

That would have been humiliating for Malfoy. He was rather light, nearly weightless and his attacks had been full of anger, yes, but without much force behind them. He wondered why the game was cancelled, Quidditch was a game that should be played until a Seeker caught the Snitch. It was rather suspicious.

While he mulled those over in his head, he ran into Ron. 

He rubbed at his nose. "Ron, what's wrong with you?"

He ceased his rubbing and looked over Ron's shoulder and saw what had caused the hold-up. He didn't have to stand on his toes to see over Ron's shoulder, he was up to the red-head's forehead, but what Ron's frame had overshadowed was by far shorter than even Hermione.

"Malfoy."

"So glad of you to join the 'Let's frighten Malfoy with useless verbal abuse' gang, Potter," he drawled, delicate mouth curled up into a disgusted sneer.

"We wouldn't be here if you hadn't decided to insult Hermione, Malfoy," Ron spat, grabbing the brat by the front of his robes with one hand and pinning him to the wall.

"Well, at least I can come up with one."

Ron drew back his other arm, hand balled up into a fist, face scrunched up in fury, ready to seriously mar the Slytherin's face. Harry stepped forward, catching Ron's hand in his own, ceasing its destructive path while Hermione tugged at his other arm, begging him to release Malfoy.

Harry gently set down his best friend's fist, though his hand still encased Ron's own like a steel manacle, lest his fist continue its want for blood on its own accord. Harry kept his other hand on Ron's arm as he pinned it to the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain's side.

"My, my, my, you should learn to control that temper of yours, Weasel, lest your mudblood girlfriend and your famous friend won't be able to save you next time."

Harry turned to glare at Malfoy. The nerve of that brat! If he and Hermione hadn't intervened, who knows what Ron might've done to him! He might have been placed in the Infirmary for months.

"Shut it, Malfoy," he growled, staring down at the shorter boy.

It was a wonder that Malfoy had remained as small as he was this late in his teenage years. It was unlikely that his diminutive stature would change now. He trained his gaze on Harry, seeming to look down at the Boy-who-Lived with his aristocratic upbringing and training.

"And who gave you permission to enter this conversation, Potter?" He appeared to look even more disgusted at the sight of him, if that was even possible.

"You did, when you insulted my friends."

"Well, if you aren't playing the hero that everyone thinks you to be," he lifted one gossamer eyebrow. "Careful, your head might just explode with all those compliments. Though your faithful hound and whining bitch might hopefully still-"

He hadn't been given the slightest chance to finish his sentence for Harry had heard enough and grabbed him by the front of his robes and with both hands, had lifted him in the air, their eyes seemingly level now. Draco could now see the hate in those eyes, hate that had been called on too often that they seemed world-weary, cynical, even, about everything, even towards Malfoy.

"Don't ever insult my friends to my face, Malfoy, lest I leave you with something worse than those bruises," he growled, their faces centimeters away from one another's, their breathing consecutive, though the smaller boy's was erratic, bordering on panting.

"You wouldn't recognize an insult until it danced naked wearing Dumbledore's hat while whistling a Christmas tune."

Harry could hear the strain it had brought him as he spoke, his words precise but without his usual effortlessness. Had he hurt the scum too much back in the Quidditch field too much?

He considered following in Ron's footsteps and physically abusing the blonde, but what good would that do? He had already caused enough damage and that hadn't solved anything. Besides, he'd probably run off to his father and have him do something to all three of them.

Besides, how could he harm such beauty? It had to be a sin to even touch one with such seraphic likeliness, though it was pure irony that the gods would endow one with such a horrid soul with such countenance. The ethereal strands that were styled to avoid distractions seemed finer that silk, and more costly. The regal arch of his brows perched atop gray orbs with just enough naturally curled lashes to frame a face enough to rival even Aphrodite's own beauty. A long fine nose, and full lips shaded with just the right color of cherry confirmed the old aristocratic bloodlines of the Malfoy family. If one were to glance at him without ever knowing who he was, one might have taken him for a woman, a beautiful one with goddess-like qualities.

"Put me down, Potter," he disparaged. "Now."

Harry glared at him for a moment before setting him on his feet, roughly, and turning towards the Great Hall. 

Ron and Hermione gave each other furtive glances. Ron with utter disdain and confusion while Hermione frowned at him and stared at Harry sympathetically but not without curiosity. She turned back to assess Draco Malfoy and found the Slytherin huffily dusting off his robes then clutch at his chest, as if catching his breath.

Hermione could admit that he was very good-looking, bordering on beautiful even. Anyone with eyes could see that but who would have thought that Harry fancied boys?

*     *     *     *     *

A/N: The Locker scene, well, as you have noticed, Draco was wearing an undershirt. By this we mean just a sports bra. She and Pansy sounded like Americans because my co-author wanted them that way and since this was supposed to be Lestat's chapter, I guess I could give her that after all my editing. Blaise will play an important role soon. The part after the Quidditch match wasn't very funny, though, bordering on angsty, I would think. Oh, and Louis, if you'd happen to be bored and read this, I kinda 'borrowed' the last part from you. I absolutely loved your description of Draco's lips. 'Lips that challenged even the authenticity of crimson.' That was inspired!

Thanks to the lovely reviewers, too! Chapters might be posted every month or two, just because! And don't forget to REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW 

P.S. Did anyone know that pumpkins were squash? Yuck!!! Ice cold squash juice? Disgusting! Scaldingly hot squash soup, yes, but never squash juice! Hey, anyone ever wonder what they give students who are allergic to it? Should Draco be allergic to it? Anyone want to vote in this useless poll? Oh, should there be some more Ron/Hermione in it? Dun, dun, dun, dun…


	4. Chapter Three

THE OPPOSITE of SEX By: DaDomz (Branw3nand Lestat)  
  
DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.  
  
WARNINGS:  
  
This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand. Also a R/Hr fic so be warned! Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.  
  
Authors' Notes: Oh, I don't really know the proper placements of the rooms in Hogwarts so, if there's an inconsistency, then blame it on ineptness but I'm trying my best to devour the books and correct any possible mishaps. Kiren, thanks for your advise, got the same ones about my other fics, so I'm trying to squelch in all the A/Ns in here.  
  
L: Do they have cicadas on Scotland? I was supposed to put crickets but it would be too cliché. (Yes, that one's from Lestat.)  
  
To Cali: Watchoo talkin' 'bout? We ain't impersonating vamps from A. Rice. My p.name's derived from the Welsh Goddess of love while well, Lestat *was* her old p. name. So if you wanna read her stories, then e-mail me and I can give it to you or something.  
  
Regarding the poll: Wow! I can't believe some of you actually responded to that! Yes, due to popular demand, Draco is now quite allergic to pumpkin juice.  
  
Moonchild: *sheepish grin* kinda forgot to mention it, sorry. My head's usually very disorganized and, well, more often than not, I act before my thought process pans out the right decisions. Thanks for the e-mail, really shows that some guys really love this fic. I'm so proud. *cheeky smile*  
  
Ladyblondhair and meirta: Yes, nearly everyone in the Slytherin Seventh Year knows about Draco's sexuality but won't actually show they know it. Crabbe and Goyle are indifferent about it, so there you go. She's actually closest to Pansy.  
  
BakaWeapon and Das Roo Boo: Thanks for putting us on your fave author list!!!  
  
bad-ass Cinderella: Um.not really my fault. My used to be co- author had this perception of Draco and I have mine. That gender bender fic kinda inspired this, and if you read that one, well, Draco *is* a girly-girl, (no offense intended) and that was Lestat's view of *this* Draco, though this will be different now.  
  
Chapter Three: Interesting Midnight Excursions  
  
The night air swirled around outside the open window until it penetrated thick woven curtains and entered the dim dormitory. It swiftly passed four peacefully sleeping teenaged boys, paying no attention to them and settled over one particular man, who had trouble sleeping. The west wind seemed to linger over his skin, freezing the dampness that had already occupied his epidermis due to a rather disturbing dream and his endless tossing and turning.  
  
The chill penetrated deep into his bones, drying the plain white shirt and resuming its teasing actions on his tanned skin. The man rubbed at his face and reached out to the night table where he had placed his glasses hours before. The world suddenly came into focus as thick spectacles were perched on a lengthy nose and made startlingly green eyes the face's focal point. He ran a frustrated hand through already chaotic ebony hair as he sighed, pulling himself up into a sitting position.  
  
Bare feet came into contact with the freezingly cold wooden panels of the floor, bringing a wince to the Boy-Who-Lived's handsome face. When he had decided that the cold no longer bothered him, he firmly planted his feet on the grainy floorboards searching for his shoes, deciding that he wouldn't return to his fitful slumber and instead decided to wander around the castle which was usually deserted at this time.  
  
Searching for his pants, he happened to glance at the clock by his bedside, the glowing hands indicating the ungodly hour in which he had decided to vacate his four-poster. Three-thirty. He shrugged it off, not much bothered him now and his sole concern was successfully slipping on his trousers. He struggled for a while, his brain not properly functioning at this early an hour, his body aching due to sleep deprivation.  
  
He managed to pull them over his boxers as he took his Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk and slipped it on.  
  
Ron wouldn't mind if he took a stroll around the castle without him and Hermione. Merlin knows that the red-head needed all the sleep he could get due to his unusually consistent growth-spurt. If he wasn't sleeping, then he was eating. His metabolism was beginning to catch up with his height.  
  
Harry had gone through his in the middle of his during the beginning of their Fifth Year. It was a late time to start but as Harry was an unusual boy, he never questioned his unsound hormones. Besides, unlike his best friend, he had ceased his development and remained a normal six-foot one stature.  
  
And with that he left the Seventh Year Boy's Dormitory and the Gryffindor Common Room and made his way east, towards the Astronomy Tower.  
  
By happenstance, he had taken the Marauders' Map with him and he activated it, making sure to take the easiest route which was usually the one Filch wasn't using. Thankfully, Filch was three floors below him and didn't appear to want to bother checking the Astronomy Tower. It was too late and any paramours Filch and Mrs. Norris might have hoped to catch meeting would have to be in bed by now.  
  
He knew from own personal experience. He had trysts such as those he had just depicted, though he could never claim that he had loved any of them. They were inconsequential, insignificant flings, things he had participated in out of boredom, a sentiment that nearly all his female counterparts had also emanated, though he was certain that he had broken his fair share of hearts as well.  
  
He wasn't even sure if he believed in true love anymore, all anyone had ever wanted from him was his fame. Might things have been different had he not been the Boy-Who-Lived?  
  
He leaned out a window, the sudden coolness of the marble doing nothing to assuage his muddled thoughts. He rested against the frame, wincing at its coarseness, his mind far from Hogwarts and back to a time when he could hope that his parents had not died but had just disappeared, only to be found and reunited with him. He was much too old for that type of wishful thinking.  
  
His situation in life was already more than he could ask for. He now lived with his Godfather in an enormous mansion and could have anything he wanted, if he would bother to ask for it. He blinked away superfluous thoughts, content with whatever the gods had given him. They would not have done what they had without purpose.  
  
He blinked as incandescent shimmer flashed before his eyes. It shone with a brilliance that could only be described as ethereal. He craned his neck, searching for its source, knowing full well that the moon could not generate such light. His line of vision landed on the Astronomy Tower's crown, where he saw a hunched figure perched near its edge.  
  
Head covered with golden locks turned away from him, it was the source of the unearthly shine. Arms were wrapped around legs drawn up to a tiny frame, while hands clutched at something unseen. The individual was clad entirely in black, appearing to be blending in to the shadows, appearing to have been borne from within its depths. Harry's eyes widened as the person appeared to set down what they had been holding and stand, walking towards the roof's edge.  
  
Every instinct he had demanded that he rush to the Astronomy Tower and save the solitary figure. It appeared to be too much of a last desperate attempt to end a worthless unappealing life.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Fingers nearly frost-bitten with cold nimbly picked up the goblet which lay before suede clad feet and brought its golden rim to exquisite pale pink lips turned white from the blistering chill as a refined mouth opened to down the bitterly sweet crimson fluid. Wine burned down his tongue, throat and into his stomach, leaving a lingering sensation of liquid fire in his body. He never liked wine, though had been bred to take it. It was a myriad of flavors, and the bitter sweetness that left a sour trail on his tongue did nothing to appease his stomach yet became an effective but momentary guard against the acrimonious gust that swirled around the castle.  
  
He came here on days when his thoughts were most unclear and left him confused. He never did see the appeal of sharing ones feelings with another being. He found no comfort in such trivial actions. He preferred the tranquil solitude that this roof offered him. He shivered, heart beating gradually, at a slower pace than what would have been normal. Days where he had left the Slytherin table with plate after plate of uneaten food, disregarded meals, unfulfilled appetites, leaving the body weaker and more fragile than what was normal.  
  
His initiation as a Death Eater was impending, and it worried him. It was what was expected of him, from both friends and enemies. But the person whom he thought would be the most persistent of his decision to become what he hated was the individual who wanted him to carefully reflect over his decisions. He thought that his father would have made it an assurity, to make him Voldemort's servant, but to his surprise, it was the other way around.  
  
Professor Snape's reaction was much more predictable, though. He became worried, even concerned for his sake. Being protective was quite usual of him and handing out unasked for yet much needed advice. He was lucky to get away with missing so many meals as it was. He was even luckier to find solace from Pansy's prying and extricate some alone time early in the mornings.  
  
He set down the gold goblet, it did nothing for his ostensibly incurable headache and on a whim stood up on shaky and unstable legs, stumbling towards the edge, flinging his arms out, tilting his head up, breathing in the clear and fresh breeze.  
  
Suddenly, he didn't feel as good as he thought he did and the last thing he could see was the looming Hogwarts Castle grounds as all thought exited his head, not even registering the fact that he was falling, stumbling to his death.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He gulped in burningly cold gulps of night air, forcing it down his lungs, trying to regain all the breath he had lost in his haste to rush up the Astronomy Tower. He took a few moments to steel and clam himself, searching for any secret panels, hidden entrances or any of the like. It took his eyes a while to adjust to the darkness but he knew he didn't have that sort of leisure if he was to save that girl right above him.  
  
He ran his hands over the cool and rough marble, his hands catching on the coarse cement that held the slabs together. He knew he was wasting precious seconds standing there and doing nothing. He had nearly come full circle around the globular space when his fingers caught on some invisible catch in the stone. He tried to pry it open but to no avail. He slapped his forehead as he realized that on some whim, he had stuffed his wand down the crimson sweater Mrs. Weasley had given him last Christmas.  
  
He hastily removed it from the hand-woven cotton and nearly dropped the object in his haste. He dreaded what might have happened had he not caught it before it fell to the dusty ground. He muttered a spell and sighed with relief as the once minute opening parted and revealed a short albeit winding staircase that led up and most probably to the roof.  
  
He hastened up the narrowly spaced steps as he unexpectedly burst into the roof, the staircase unexpectedly leading to a hatch that seemed part of the inner surfacing of the roof. He barely had time to register the fact that it wasn't a girl that he had seen but Malfoy before he saw his adversary throw himself over the edge without a second thought, as if giving up any hope for salvation.  
  
On mere instinct, he propelled himself near the edge of the roof and grabbed Malfoy by the back of his thankfully fastened robes and wrapped an arm around the Slytherin's slight waist as soon as he pulled him back, sinking down onto the startlingly smooth corrugated roof with Malfoy's unconscious body above him.  
  
He grunted turning to his side, depositing Malfoy beside him. He flipped himself over the blonde, examining him for any marks or blemishes that could have resulted from the momentary yet life- threatening instant when he saved the smaller boy. Absolute perfection was what met him. He be damned if any being could even come close to this vision of utter flawlessness.  
  
Screw the person who invented the belief that God created all of his beings equally.  
  
He tenderly cradled the possibly cataleptic boy's face in his hands, wincing at the freezing temperature of his pale skin. He had always thought of Draco Malfoy as a cold and heartless creature but this was too much. No human, Wizard or not, could survive with such body temperature. He couldn't clearly discern Malfoy's breathing and had to place his ear over pale nearly blue lips to feel cold however thankfully wet breath tickle his ear lobes. His breathing was uneven and spaced at irregular intervals but he was breathing, nonetheless.  
  
He then moved his ear to where Malfoy's literal heart was and could perceive its hushed and sluggish pace. He was shivering convulsively as well. Harry drew himself up and ran a hand through his unruly hair, pondering on what actions to take next.  
  
The answer abruptly came to him in an inane image of Uncle Vernon laughing spastically at some insipid looking Muggle show which Harry had happened to glimpse of until Aunt Marge dragged him off to bed.  
  
Malfoy had hypothermia.  
  
He did the only thing he thought was feasible in this unlikely situation. He took Malfoy's seemingly weightless body, cradling him gently in his arms and carried him down into the Astronomy Tower's dank yet protected confines. He set the Slytherin down onto his Invisibility Cloak, the same one which he had let slip from his shoulders just minutes ago.  
  
He bundled the slight boy in his Cloak and wrapped his arms around the younger boy, running his hands over Malfoy's arms, trying to achieve enough friction for heat. He received no reaction whatsoever from Draco. He set him down onto the stone floor once more, bundled pallid fingers together and brought them under his sweater, flinching at the contact of frozen epidermis on his body, though his shirt should have shielded him against it.  
  
"Malfoy, what the fuck have you been doing?" he muttered, running nimble figures through silken locks that had him so engrossed with these past weeks.  
  
What shocked him was that he got a response. An unintelligible reply, yet it did prove that Malfoy wasn't comatose. He sighed as he ran his fingers down Malfoy's frozen angelic visage, resembling an ice sculpture he had once seen and just as frosty.  
  
Keep the victim warm.  
  
He groaned, running his thumb over supple lips as blue as an early morning sky. No!!! He did not have those kind of inclinations.  
  
He'll die.  
  
Damn this conscience. He leaned towards Malfoy, pressing his cheek to Draco's clear forehead, breathing into his face, trying to warm him up as best as possible. Would Mdm. Pomfrey ask any questions? She'd probably not but he couldn't out rule that slight possibility that she might, given the circumstance.  
  
He decided to try one last time, grimacing as he pressed his lips to Malfoy's, kissing him with all his might, hoping to reinstate some warmth within the other boy but to no avail. An indiscernible twitch came from the hands under his sweater but he couldn't perceive any other change in the lithe boy's frame. He rubbed at his forehead, sighed defeatedly and once again began to bear Malfoy in his arms. The alluring stench of apples, cinnamon and whatever else there was in his aura, drugged him.  
  
Malfoy stirred in his arms as he made his way to the Infirmary, flaxen head snuggling into his chest, shivering from exposure.  
  
"It's alright, Malfoy," he muttered, to comfort himself more than Malfoy. "You're going to be all right."  
  
Malfoy's lips moved against the thick cotton of his sweater as slender and freezing fingers clawed at his white shirt, searching for much needed warmth. He turned and pressed his cheek to Harry's chest, unconsciously hearing heart beating rapidly and warm blood flowing all around the body that cradled him as if he were a new born babe.  
  
Draco tried to open his eyes but immediately closed them as the world came upon him like a hazy dream, only the steady pumping of a heart which was not his own, irregular breathing that came from above and muscled limbs which nursed him kept his mind on the reality of it all. The smell of musk, mint and old spice soothed him unlike any other as he began to loose consciousness.  
  
He was safe now.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Bright light filtered through thick curled lashes, reflecting off light grey irises, causing lids to continuously flutter over them, training them to the luminosity of the area. Finding the overhead candlelight too intense for his eyes, he turned to the side only to suddenly loose all the warmth that unconsciousness had brought. He curled up into a ball, taking in deep and laboured breaths to try and trying to rub his hands together to spawn much required heat.  
  
After much struggle, he gave up, resigned to probably dying due to overexposure. That was when he felt the area in which he must have laid on give way due to unexpected pressure or weight. Thick cloth which had bunched uncomfortably around his ankles was suddenly but with much gentle consternation pulled over his body and up onto his chin. Strong calloused hands tucked the comforter around him causing him an extreme amount of discomfort.  
  
Struggling against the tender action, he heard a nearly imperceptible sigh of frustration as sturdy arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer to a wall of much appreciated warmth to which he responded with a soft moan, nuzzling closer to its true source, his cheek rubbing against a relaxing roughness, unnaturally soft as it stretched across hard plates of something indiscernible to his addled brain.  
  
Whatever it was didn't matter as long as it was warm. The comforter was once again wrapped against his protesting form but he quickly settled as the warmth enveloped him, holding him against the powerful wall where he could have sworn he heard a quiescent though continually pounding beating noise.  
  
He drifted off once more, smiling peacefully as the insurmountable grasp of sleep's delicious fingers clutched at him and drew him into its lulling delusions of protection and safety.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Harry took in deep breaths, trying to concentrate on anything but the precious bundle in his arms, trying to alleviate his heightened senses, shutting his eyes and breathing through his mouth, attempting to wipe the vision of Malfoy clinging to him from his mind. Though try as he might, shutting the Slytherin boy out of two particular senses didn't make his enthralling presence all the more imperceptible.  
  
He could still feel slender fingers grasping at his sweater and the cheek buried into the cotton fabric. He felt Malfoy stir, mumbling incoherently before tightening his grip over the rouge sweater, brow furrowing in consternation. Slight legs slid over his own, tangling them together as he held his breath, hoping his faint movements wouldn't wake the blonde.  
  
He regretted ever thinking of even trying to assuage Malfoy's fitful slumber. Why couldn't he have just left or, if he really had to give in to the urge of protecting Malfoy, waited until Mdm. Pomfrey utilized the rest of the potion. But no, he had to give in to his peculiar impulses to help ease Malfoy's feverish dream and have the short boy cling to him in turn as he tried to tuck him into the comforter.  
  
He couldn't help but feel a tiny streak of pride rush at him from out of nowhere due to the fact that such a delicate creature would find comfort in him, though unwittingly. He was completely nonplussed by now.  
  
He squashed down the exceptionally disturbing thought as if he were Ron and it was a spider. He felt thoroughly disgusted with himself.  
  
He felt the body next to him shift slightly, causing the flaxen head to now lean against the crook of his neck, triggering an unnatural effect on him, making him gasp at the onslaught of emotions that such tiny, nearly insignificant gestures caused.  
  
Malfoy's hand flattened on his chest and he stifled a gasp as it rubbed over his sweater, searching for warmth, no doubt. Reluctantly, he enclosed the much tinier hand in his own, marveling at how small it was compared to his, and how soft and smooth it was. It was blatantly obvious that the Draco had never laboured over such menial things as housework, never to have been concerned with it.  
  
He wished Pomfrey would hurry with the rest of that potion already. She had given Malfoy a slight laxative, not the entire potion but something that might warm him up and bring down the fever he had before she tackled the hypothermia. Slightly leaning on Malfoy's head, he winced as he heard a boisterous crash located by the Infirmary's entryway.  
  
He lifted his head and saw Mdm. Pomfrey scuttle into the room, face red with anger, carrying a flask in one hand and confronting the intruder. An unnerving feeling crept through his spine like a snake, ice cold and venomous. He quickly disregarded the feeling, knowing whoever was back there would be dealt with by Mdm. Pomfrey.  
  
Hell hath no fury like a mediwitch scorned.  
  
He shut his eyes, evening out his breathing, calming himself knowing, though he could not identify how he knew, that sleepers could somehow sense their surroundings. That was when the sinister shadow descended upon him.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Author's Note: Okay, not so much comedy in there, it was mostly fluff. Grr!!! I'm very bad at comedy but I'll try harder next time, though. Please REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! Oh, and if any of you guys out there know how to translate English to Latin would you please contact me??? I really need some scenes between Draco and Snape translated because, well, just because. I'll give you the next chapter!!! *pleading puppy dog eyes*  
  
Poll: (since it was so successful last time) If Draco's hair grows, should it be straight or slightly wavy or curly? Just wondering, can't really decide. I had this vision of him with Britney Spear's hair in that video, er.the one with the entirely all-black background where she drives the car? That slightly wavy curly hair that she had? Or maybe J. Lo's in her 'Jenny from the Block' video? What do you think Draco's hair should be? 


	5. Chapter Four

THE OPPOSITE of SEX 

By: DaDomz (Branw3nand Lestat)

DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.

WARNINGS:

1.) This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand.

2.) Also a R/Hr fic so be warned!

3.) Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.

DEDICATIONS:

1.) Martha Alexanders: She did the Latin translations for me. Thanks for being patient, you're an integral part in the development of this story's plot, or lack thereof. I might just take you up on your offer.

2.) Mech- My number one fan who fails to review anything. Oh well.

3.) Loenne- For just being green.

Author's Note: Yes, Draco will now have straight hair, due to vehement argumentations when I suggested otherwise.

**donelle- yep. I was supposed to put down sedative guess I was too lazy to re-read this. **

I somewhat regret having this thing entirely narrated by Sirius and Snape. What happens when they both kiss? Would they have to censor those parts for the little girl!!! Waaaaaah! Wait, I've got an idea! Ha!

**Chapter Four: Hell Hath No Fury Like a Potions Master Scorned**

****

Severus Snape had never been so frustrated in his entire existence. He had been awakened before the crack of dawn by that godforsaken bond Lucius Malfoy had instated in him and Draco. He immediately knew that something was wrong with the child. 

'What isn't?' a calloused voice at the back of his mind interjected.

'Shut up' he bit back harshly, sneering at it. 

It wasn't the dear child's fault that his father was a sickly, controlling megalomaniac. Poor child, never knowing which was which, right from wrong, male from female…

He shook those thoughts away, there was no time for them. He had followed their bond and found the child in the Infirmary. Now the only problem was to enter the aforementioned place, had the territorial beast not intercepted him. Wasn't his bloody fault that those bed pans were stacked just within the immediate proximity of the double doors. Bleeding house elves, they'd get a good thrashing for all of this.

He looked down at the plump woman who stood before him, gulping. Curse Dumbledore for hiring her. She had been here for forever. He had encountered her more than once while he was but a student in this castle. Yet she remained to look as young as fifty. She must have worked some of those miracle cures upon her own face.

Now, to reason with the beast.

"Madame, I do insist that you let me enter," his voice was as cold and sinister as winter, though it affected her in no way.

"Professor Snape, if you persist on waking my patients with that action which you mistakenly call walking, I firmly maintain that you leave the premises before you give them headaches or nightmares."

She crossed her arms under her chest and he glimpsed of the potion she held in her hand. It was a pale bluish green color though curiously enough glowed red. He immediately knew what it was.

"Mr. Malfoy has hypothermia," he stated it, leaving no room for question, thankfully remembering to address Draco formally. "As the Head of his house, I am privileged to see him." He barely finished the sentence as he shoved past her, leaving her with mouth hanging agape.

He rushed to the only occupied bed in the area, brow furrowing at the too large lump atop it. Draco was in no way miniscule but certainly not as large as that. He slowed his pace, approaching the uncomfortable hospital bed from the side when he noticed an all too familiar lump of black hair.

"Potter!!!" he bellowed, causing Mdm. Pomfrey to approach him like a charging bull.

She was on him in an instant, shaking her finger and reprimanding him harshly in a fierce whisper. He looked over her head to see the Potter boy turn his head to face him, eyes wide with shock and fear as they came to rest upon Snape's seething figure. That was when he saw what Potter cradled in his arms.

"Get off he-him!!!" Severus could feel his blood pressure rising, his face turning an alarming shade of purple, and steam nearly escaping from his ears.

Mdm. Pomfrey took him by the elbow and dragged him to the nearest cot; she was unnaturally strong for a woman of her stature. She then removed some pills from her apron and stuck them inside his mouth, leaving no room for question, clamping his mouth closed with a hand.

Snape chewed automatically, wincing at the familiar bitter iron taste of the pills. They were for his heart. But his eyes were still on Potter and Draco, boring a hole in the former's head and fearing for the latter's sake.

Potter sat up, careful not to disturb Draco, who, to Snape's dismay, clung to the bespectacled man as if he were a buoy that kept him from drowning. Potter *had* to have created a love potion to induce this type of affection from the child.

Sputtering as Mdm. Pomfrey removed her paws from him lips, his voice was a chemically induced threatening calm. "What is he doing here?"

"He found and saved he-Mr. Malfoy," she replied stiffly, though he caught the slip in her words. How in the world-?

He returned his gaze to the sleeping child who leaned on Potter contentedly. He could perceive the hospital pyjamas on the teenager, that and half a dozen blankets with the comforter wrapped around Draco's slender frame. That did not assuage his anger, only heightened his fear. He took in the way Potter held Draco and didn't like it one bit. He noticed but disregarded the way his student clung to Potter, a hand clutching at a handful of Potter's sweater and the other unconsciously playing with the hair on Potter's nape.

He took Poppy Pomfrey by the arm and dragged her behind a curtained off section of the Infirmary, far from Potter's prying ears, though not as far as Severus might have liked.

"You know," was his first statement.

"About 'Mr.' Malfoy?" she sniffed at the title. "Of course I do, what do you take me for? An imbecile?"

He chose not to reply. "What about Potter, then?"

"There's nothing wrong with him."

"Does he know?!?!?!" he yelled, his grip on her arm tightening.

She pulled out of his grasp, bestowing upon him a disgusted look. "Of course not! Whatever business the Malfoys have doing what they did is strictly theirs." She sounded revolted. "And apparently yours as well."

He pretended to not have heard her last remark or its implications on his humanity. "Well, let us leave it at that. Now, why is Potter here, and all the more, why is he on the same bed with *my* student?"

"As I said, Professor Snape, he found Mr. Malfoy and decided to take him here. Mr. Potter was intelligent enough not to let his biases get in the way when it comes to his fellow classmate's condition. He brought Mr. Malfoy here, nearly collapsing out of exhaustion."

Snape seemed unimpressed. "Then why is he occupying the same bed Mr. Malfoy inhabits? I see no lack in cots as I came in."

"I asked him to help warm-up Mr. Malfoy," she huffed.

He slapped his forehead. "Bloody brilliant of you! He's a teenager for god's sake! They're fucking hormonal!"

"Are you implying that Mr. Potter has homosexual tendencies? HE-DOESN'T-KNOW!!!!!"

Severus took in a deep breath before exiting the oppressive space the curtain veiled and turned to face Potter, who was trying but failing to extricate himself from Draco's grasp. To Severus, he didn't seem to be trying hard enough or putting up much resistance.

"You may leave now, Potter," he scoffed, malevolently glaring at Potter's unruly bush of hair.

"Yes, professor," he muttered distractedly, successfully removing Draco's hand from his hair and was now tugging at the other, still clinging possessively on his shirt. He tried to pry nimble fingers off the poorly-made material, when, to Snape's utter amazement, Draco turned, snuggling all the more closer to Potter, burying a flaxen head into Potter's broad shoulder, too-long hair brushing against Potter's cheek, muttering inarticulate words, seemingly complaining against Potter and Severus Snape's intentions.

Potter mumbled soothing words against Draco's silvery mane, extracting a disgruntled whimper from the Slytherin. Snape tapped his foot impatiently, though for Draco, he would wait. He could comprehend that Draco wouldn't act this way under normal circumstances and it wasn't due to some love potion but some temporary illness that caused his student to require warmth and obtain it from any source that could offer it.

He watched Potter, somewhat amused at his reaction to Draco's unwarranted attention. Potter looked up at him, nearly pleading, finally succeeding in disentangling his legs from where they previously were. Snape shuddered to think of their prior location. Control your temper, not Potter's fault, not Potter's fault… Why in the hell did he comply with Draco's… Don't think of it, no, no, no, no…….!!!

"Hurry up, Potter," he growled feverishly, snarling at the boy.

"I'm trying, professor!" the young man bit back, struggling to remove Draco's possessive grip on his sweater. Then, as if a spark of intelligence had finally decided to inhabit Potter's altogether cobweb-filled head, he had the mind to remove his sweater, looking rather proud of himself, then his face fell, an almost discreet change in his eyes.

The Gryffindor sighed and gently plucked Draco's hands from the white tee shirt he wore, tucking it into his discarded sweater, an unbelievably fond smile crossing his features as he glimpsed upon Draco's contented smile as the Slyhterin's tiny frame buried itself into Potter's enormous sweater, sighing blissfully.

Potter gazed at Draco for a slight moment before turning around, starting to leave when Severus caught his arm in a steel-like grip filled with all the vindictiveness that he could muster. "Where did you find him, Potter?"

Harry regarded him coolly for a second, trying to decide if he was to tell the Potions Master the truth or some variation of it. Snape could tell that he had settled for the truth for he had this resigned look to him. "I couldn't sleep and decided to take a stroll. It was four in the morning when I found someone perched atop the Astronomy Tower roof. She, I had at first presumed it was a woman," he quickly added after taking in Snape's scandalized face. "I saw the figure stand and with the strong gales and all, I immediately thought it was some sort of suicide act. I rushed to the Astronomy Tower, found a secret passage and dragged Malfoy away from the ledge just as he was about to fall.

"He was unconscious, shivering, lips blue, skin paler than normal. I presumed he had hypothermia. The goblet half-filled with wine by his feet didn't seem to have the desired effect, as to wine does not give the warmth he needed. It dehydrates the body even more. So, I wrapped him in his robe and carried him here."

Snape met his eyes, emerald orbs daring him to disbelieve the tale. "And may I ask who gave *you* permission to sneak out at night?"

"It was near-morning, I did nothing wrong. I only awoke earlier than the rest of this castle," he countered, so angry that Severus could feel his muscles stiffen.

"Well, then seeing that you have saved Mr. Malfoy's life, I suppose I can let that err pass without a point deduction," Potter gave him a grateful look. "But with a detention sanction." Potter's face fell and nodded with a world-weary cynicism and resignation. 

"Thank you, Professor Snape," he said, pulling out of Severus' grasp and exiting the Infirmary.

Severus Snape stared at the young man's retreating back until wooden double doors blocked out Potter's tall muscular frame. "Now I owe you once again."

He then turned to face the sleeping seraph which he had, ironically enough, been assigned to guard and had nearly failed in doing so. "Nunc, dracus parvus meus. Quod in terram facere probovisti?" (Now, my little dragon. What in the world have you tried to do?")

****

*      *      *      *      *

He snuggled under the heavy comforter, desperately trying to cling to the last remnants of a dreamless sleep. He groaned as a sudden wave of nausea threatened to envelope him and he suddenly felt insecure. What happened to the solid wall of safety and warmth that had stayed beside him from the beginning?

Suddenly he felt penetrating eyes upon him and he bolted upright, head whirling around to face the unknown stalker. His eyes landed on the quite harried features of one very agitated Professor Snape. He frowned, quite mystified at the situation. Where was he? And how did he get here?

"Professor Snape?" he questioned, his voice like dry parchment. Severus nearly broke out into a smile at that long-forgotten epithet. 

Draco coughed for quite some time before a glass grasped in an enormous hand was set under his nose.

He drank greedily, the water restoring his strength for his ordeal with Snape.

"Voleris si vultis mei dicere quod ibi factus est, Draco?" his voice was calm, belying the edginess that he felt. (Would you please inform me of what had happened back there, Draco?)

Innocent eyes stared up at him as Draco steeled himself, struggling to forget the feeling of comfort that still lingered over every fiber of his being as he tried to recall far past that, to when his emotions were cold and as hard as iron and where memories consisted of images, not impalpable emotions.

"Donas sibi tempus, liber," Snape soothed, calmly running his fingers through too long silken strands of gossamer hair. "Attendisi longior tempus in te desterto.." (Take your time, child, I've waited far longer for you to wake.)

It was his turn to voice a query. "Quid sum hic? Sed super quod, ubi sum?" (Why am I here? More important, where am I?)

Snape sighed, palm now lying on Draco's rounded shoulders. "Veraciter non scis?" (You truly do not know?)

Flaxen head shook in reply.

"Apparet que habuisti attactum hypothermiae et apparet que Potter," he spat out the name as it left a vile taste in his mouth. "salvatorem erat cum tu voluisti ipse conicere de turri Astronomiae, ad mortem. Nunc, si possum esse ita liberius, quid, Draco? Quid vita tuus probere finiri?" (It seems as though you had caught a bout of hypothermia and Potter seems to have been your saviour as you were about to throw yourself off the Astronomy Tower and to your death. Now, if I may, why, Draco? Why try to take your own life?)

Detached silvery irises widened to show a range of eternally suffocated emotions as confusion left pallid features to be replaced by enlightenment then shame. Then, reverting to English; "I was up there contemplating upon unspeakable choices."

Snape's eyes widened in surprise and understanding, knowing full well what had been the cause of Draco's botched suicide attempt. "Child, is it truly worth taking your life?"

Glossy lashes fluttered over creamy skin, blinking in uncontainable surprise. "Pardon me?"

"Dracus parvus meus, you understand full well that your father would not cause you harm if you chose differently. I'd make sure of it," Snape seated himself on the cot, laying a protective hand on silvery-gold hair.

"No," tiny voice came out breathless at the implications of the professor's words. "No." The voice was more firm this time, full of reluctant assurity. "I recall standing atop the roof, the wind caressing my face. I love that feeling, as you do know."

He was given sparse periods out in the sun. He was a tiny delicate child and his parents feared that he might collapse out of physical exertion, especially with the hateful rays of the sun on his back. Snape understood him, empathized with his want for a few seconds of freedom, even with such an insignificant thing as that.

"Nausea enveloped me, rendering me unconscious and the last thing I could see was the grass looming before me." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "But I felt arms wrap around me, pulling me back, though that could surely be my imagination. Who would selflessly try to save me, the bane of all Hogwarts? I had strictly implied that I was not to be followed at nights and Blaise, Vincent and Gregory have firmly remained adamant with my request."

Snape shook his head. "Did you not hear me, Draco?" He admonished softly. "Potter saved you."

The incessant fluttering of seemingly burnished lids began its ritual once more. "What?"

"He saved you, though more for his own egoistical reasons, I'm sure."

Draco could not conceal the shock that settled upon his features. "Potter?" No. It couldn't be. Why would he save him? Potter hated him with the same vindictiveness that Draco had for him. Or was Potter truly what everyone claimed him to be? A saint. Altruistic, noble, gallant, every girl's dream? Draco shook his head. No one was perfect, no person with that much humanity in them.

"Do not torture yourself, Draco. He had done it for himself. Now you owe him your life. Just as he had wanted."

Disbelieving eyes stared back at Snape.

"Draco," Snape halted, trying to grasp at a change of topic. "You've stopped eating your meals. You shouldn't have done such a thing. Your lack of sleep as well as that had caused your Immune System to weaken and it had been unable to shield you from the cold. The wine you drank did nothing to add warmth to your body."

"But it turned out all right, didn't it?" he replied defiantly, refined chin slightly tilted upward. "The blankets helped as I slept, as did Mdm. Pomfrey's cures."

"That was not all," Snape muttered to himself, too low for Draco's ears.

"Pardon?" his voice held an impertinence that reminded Severus of the child he once was and in the Slytherin Head's mind, still was.

Severus regarded Draco's clothing with a wariness he could not place. Golden head bent down to see the much abhorred piece of garment. The crimson coloring of it held nothing sinister, though he had never owned such a shade in his entire wardrobe. Its too large fit hinted at its owner's size. It was a man's shirt. He pulled the sleeves to his face, arms disappearing inside its length as he breathed in the pleasant odor. The minty smell of old spice mixed with a manly musk blended well with his own scent.

The sweater's essence suddenly brought a face to mind. 

"Potter's," he breathed, struggling to detach himself from the article of clothing but a firm hand halted him.

"As much as I abhor Potter, I believe that keeping that sweater on will be for the best."

He grunted, feeling a strange sense of ambivalence, not wanting to keep any item which belonged to Potter but liking the smell he left on his clothes, feeling a familiar wave of comfort rush at him, but now causing him to blanch.

_It just **couldn't be.**_

*      *      *      *      *

****

It was now Thursday; Dean stared at the board and copied the figures written all over it, wiping his mind clear of any thought. It was Transfiguration and the only noise that could be perceived was the silent chirping of the cicadas and Ron's soft snores. He slept much and studied only when he felt like opening a textbook, which was a rare occasion, but surprisingly enough, he still managed to squeeze through his tests. 

Hermione was probably just as tired as everyone else, she wasn't enthusiastic about the lesson and her mind had drifted far away from the Transfigurations classroom, her thoughts switching from a sleeping Ron beside her and the world outside the classroom. The Slytherins' were bummed out as well, either too busy snoring or snapping at each other. 

Harry was not in attendance for the last match Gryffindor had, versus Hufflepuff, though ending gloriously for the former, had resulted in broken ribs and beaten in face for their much-appreciated Head Boy and Seeker. 

The only people who were probably listening out of the entire lot were Dean and Draco. Pansy was busy peeping in on everybody, staring at Blaise and staring at him looking straight out the window, his attention laying on the bright blue fowl flitting around the castle. Pansy could see Gregory and Vincent sleeping, drool spilling onto their shared desk, Nott toying with his wand and Millicent writing down ways to trim down on fat and lastly, her eyes settled on Draco. 

He appeared to be deep in concentration, listening to whatever McGonagall was babbling about and arduously taking down notes. Pansy grinned. This was a first. A very attentive Draco and a possibly deranged Pansy was a sight that would only possibly come once in a million lifetimes. And besides, she had to try and cheer him up after his near-death experience a few days ago. He wasn't one to talk about such things, not anymore, but she had this feeling, as all best friends did, that he was truly bothered by it.

She tried to peer at his piece of parchment, though his hand was victorious in shielding his notes from any and all prying eyes.

She couldn't take it anymore that she flicked Draco's nose with her fingertips and immediately clamped a hand to his mouth, to minimize his yelp. The blond was aggressive and distraught as he rubbed his ear repeatedly. Pansy ignored his piercing glare, though cringing involuntary but paid it no heed and continued to look at the pieces of parchment. 

Draco's pierce made others wince and shudder at the same time, his growl would induce lions to whimper.

There wasn't a single word related to the subject on the parchment paper. In fact, there were no words or anything with curled slanted edges on it to begin with. Instead, there was a large circle with two smaller, pebble-like spheres positioned in it, an upside down number seven between both coals while a straight line with sharp pinecones hanging from it was situated beneath the inverted number. It took her several minutes to realize that the big circle was a head, the small circles were the eyes, the upended seven was a nose and the line with the cones were a monster-type of mouth. Several limp hay-like strands were hanging from the head with a too thin body and a deformed hands and too big feet. 

Pansy blinked for a few moments. "You know," She turned to look at Draco. "I told you when we were three, that you never did have some artistic capabilities or any of the like, don't you remember? Now, this proves my theory... You really should try a new form of self-expression... and as I recall, I also told you that then." 

"And if you would remember, it was the time I also shoved your face in the sandbox and asked you to eat dung in more or less two words. Mummy and Father were quite proud of my impressive communication skills at age two." Draco grinned. "I was set to do a self portrait but then I suddenly realized that the drawing didn't quite resemble me at all but seemed to take after you." He grinned to see Pansy's shocked expression. "Don't worry love, the drawing is wearing a full-proof Givenchy perfume." 

Pansy was about to protest when people started to gather and pair-up. McGonagall was writing complicated things on the board and listing the contents of the criteria for perfect grades. Pansy started to re-read the spells written above. 

"Guess, we're partners," Draco shrugged. "You do it first since you're quite eager and very talented, go on, be honored that **I am allowing you to try the spell on me. It's supposed to bestow upon us animal instincts, transfigure our own abilities to that of animals."  **

"Okay," Pansy shrugged and held her want tightly, muttering the spell in less than no second. A bright pink light emerged from the tip of her wand and bright pink smoke engulfed the room. Pansy coughed over and over again, hearing the other students do the same. 

Suddenly, the cacophonous noise was suddenly engulfed by an even stentorian discord, which could be discerned to be a high-pitched scream. Presumably, Draco's as it could be heard a mile from its inception. McGonagall, had her left hand on her chest, as if she was having a heart attack, her eyes wide with fright. The smoke quickly cleared out and Pansy could see orange flames dancing around the hem of Draco's robes. 

"What the fuck! Parkinson!" He shouted out-loud. "Help me put out these blasted things! Ow! It's bloody hot! What in the bloody hell is happening!?!"

McGonagall quickly performed a spell to put out the fire. Draco was drenched from head to toe. His hair covered his eyes and a gash on his back that ran from his middle to his waist was noticeable. Draco roughly ran a hand over his face and glared at Pansy as soon as all the excess liquid left his eyes. McGonagall intervened before he could maul Parkinson. "Take off your robes, I had poured down a chemical to quell the flames, which is absolutely horrible when put in contact with human flesh." 

"No!" Draco protested as McGonagall tried to yank his robes off. "There is no rule that entails with the removal of my clothing when I am wet! Just let me assist myself to the hospital ward." 

"The chemical reacts within a few seconds, if you don't remove your garments right now then I fear you're going to suffer from an Albino result for the rest of your life!" McGonagall threatened. 

"Who cares? I'm probably Albino-ridden already!" Draco countered. McGonagall's face twisted into an incomprehensible grimace before jerking Draco's robes off his body. He was already shivering, though it wasn't snowing, Scotland was, after all, a cold country. 

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and embraced himself. Everybody was probably staring and googling at him; some were snickering behind his back. He was tempted to strangle each and every one of them. 

McGonagall scratched her head in mild agitation. "Take of your vest and your top off, Mr. Malfoy... Please don't defy me... Parkinson, please help..." 

*------*

{Potion's dungeons} 

Severus was staring off into space, his mind blank. Every blasted Gryffindor 6th year was boring the hell out of him. He let out a desperate sigh before reaching for an empty glass vial and decided to walk around the room. He was studying each pair's potion. 

He deliberately stopped before Weasley and Creevey's potion, then deciding that their cauldron wasn't boiling right, decided to whack both outstretched hands, ready to add more wrongly measured ingredients with his wand. Both hands withdrew and he found two pairs of eyes staring at him, both trying their best to contain their joined opinions of the sneering professor.

"I said a dash of crushed beetle wings, not a handful," Snape was tempted to smack both heads until his wand broke. Figures, a Weasley. The name alone meant 'stupidity and Idiocy'. "I'm disappointed, Creevey." He mumbled. 

He had expected so much from this particular Gryffindor. Severus had taken a certain liking for him. A naïve and fully interested Gryffindor First year. He had spent his extra time cleaning the place up and well... the only thing he probably hated about this student was his clicking camera. 

There was a loud crash from a few floors above. Snape looked up and saw a few grains of dusts falling from the dungeon's roof. He rolled his eyes and smacked the boy's head in front of him. The dust was clearly the outcome of some certain mixture gone wrong. He rolled his eyes and went over to the board, disregarding it as something of no consequence and began to write the formula. 

He wrote in a clear penmanship, the right formula before another explosion startled the hell out of him. "Who did that?" He growled. "Who was responsible for that eruption or do I have to go around and look into your cauldrons, checking if there are any holes in them?" 

"That's only happened Longbottom sir, 7th year," A Slytherin replied politely. "He's the only one who dissolved a cauldron and made an arse out of himself in front of everyone." 

"I didn't ask for your opinion," Snape glared at him. "Either tell me who caused the upheaval or you will all suffer a 20 point deduction from your house, choose!" 

Students started talking all at once, most of the Slytherin's fore fingers pointing towards the Gryffindors' side while the Gryffindors' own were pointing above. 

"CEASE!" Snape shouted. He then got up and smacked each of his students' heads. "Have any of you been taught anything about decency? To talk one by one? Creevey!" 

"It was from above sir, Transfiguration classroom, I think." He nodded curtly before sitting down. Severus nodded in turn and pulled out his own scroll. 

Schedule

Transfiguration: Mondays

08: 00am -10: 00am-Hufflepuff and Gryffindor 6th years-

10: 00am -12: 00nn -Slytherin and Gryffindor 3rd years-

01: 00pm -03: 00pm-Ravenclaw and Gryffindor 4th years-

03: 00pm -05: 00pm-Slytherin and Gryffindor 7th years-

"Bloody Hell!" he exclaimed as a promiscuous sense of foreboding invaded his thoughts. He dropped the scroll and hurried out of the door. He did not turn to look and regard his students. He directly rushed up the flight of stairs headed towards the Transfiguration classroom.

Severus Snape to the rescue.

*     *     *     *     *

**Author's Note: **When the story was in Snape's POV, it was a lot hard to try and have him speak and think of Draco and not specify his gender and not use pronouns!!! Do I get a review as a reward???


	6. Chapter Five

THE OPPOSITE of SEX 

By: DaDomz (Branw3nand Lestat)

DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.

WARNINGS:

1.) This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand.

2.) Also an R/Hr fic so be warned!

3.) Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.

****

**NOTE: LESTAT, YEAH, YOU, READ THIS!!!! **Noticed you didn't post this and well, I decided to go through with it and by the way, I'm back. So if you're offended or something I'm sorry.

****

**CHAPTER FIVE: STRANGE REVELATIONS**

****

"Parkinson, take your filthy paws off my body, immediately!" Draco roared, his cheeks tinged with a furious crimson as he glared at Pansy murderously.

She rewarded him with a simpering sweet smile as she pulled his gray cashmere sweater over his head and apathetically discarded it behind her, flitting out of harm's way as he made a mad swipe at her.

"Your trousers, if you please, Mister Malfoy," McGonagall barked like a mad Crup.

He turned to her, nearly ready to scream the professor's head off as he laid a withering glare upon her.

She was undeterred. "Miss Parkinson…"

Pansy hopped up to him and snickered, her hands inching up his waistband. He visciously slapped her hand away, blushing furiously amid Weasley's roaring laughter. 

"I bet that this isn't the first time she's done that, now is it, Malfoy?"

He growled, sneering at him. "This predicament seem familiar to you, Weasel? If you were in my shoes, it wouldn't be the first time a teacher caught you with your pants down, now would it?"

It was an absolute waste that his retort had been drowned out by the new bouts of laughter Weasley's crack had caused.

Pansy seemed like a volcano about to erupt. "If any of you are suggesting that I've been sleeping with this git, then you all could go fuck yourselves, then."

McGonagall's countenance palled, her eyes settling on Pansy who was growling at every person which was in her immediate vision. "Miss Parkinson! Watch your tongue! This is not some rowdy pub in which a young lady such as your self should not have been in in the first place!"

Pansy continued to ignore the sanguine faced educator as she screamed a colorful set of blasphemies at her classmates. Draco took this as an opportunity to slip away amidst the bedlam but McGonagall had spotted him before he could make a clean getaway and his attempt to leave the premises only seemed to fuel her anger even more.

She manhandled him, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt, carrying him onto her table and setting him down onto it none too gently. She was quite strong for an old bat. She then proceeded to remove his trousers with her wand and then instructed him to remove his soaked shirt.

He shook his head vigorously, his saturated hair spilling droplets of excess potion onto the desk. "No, bloody hell, no! The potion hasn't even seeped through the cashmere, it couldn't have soaked my skin then."

McGonagall's mouth was set in a tight line. "Now, Mr. Malfoy or do you want me to do it myself."

His gray eyes clouded, his expression that of a caged rabbit prepared to run at the first sight of an opening. McGonagall hadn't been a teacher in Hogwarts for nearly fifty years without learning a thing or two about children and she noticed that look right off the bat. Growling at the young Slytherin before her, she muttered the leg-locker curse on him just as Draco leapt off the table, freezing him in place.

"You'll be hearing from my father about this, you Muggle-loving garbage!!!" he yelled as a sort of last resort as he stood there, shivering in his boxers and his now thin shirt.

She disregarded his outrageous comment, taking note of his womanly pitch as she again utilized her wand to remove his shirt and gasped in shock at what she saw before falling to a dead faint before her furiously blushing student.

The resounding crash that the educator's unconscious body had created reverberated throughout the classroom, drawing a lot of unwanted attention for the young blonde.

Students who had just been mindlessly screaming indignities at each other now stood tacit, mouths hanging agape at the sight before them. 

The Slytherin stood before them, shivering amidst metres of beige cloth, his red and black checkered boxers barely concealing shapely legs. His relatively flat albeit toned belly clenched and released with every shivering breath he took. Yet there was one essential detail that not one of them missed.

He was wearing some sort of garment over his bulging chest. It was a… plain white sports bra.

"My God! You're a…a **girl**!!!"

For Merlin's sake, that Weasley was a smart one, he had also summarized the entire situation, as well. Pansy slapped her forehead repetitively while Blaise's eyes were wide with what could only be apprehension while Crabbe and Goyle wonderingly scratched at their foreheads.

Not one brainless witch or wizard in the entire damned class made a move to offer her their robe and when they had finally come to their senses, it took an eternity before even one of them made a move to remove their plain black coat. Unfortunately, it that considerate soul just happened to be Finnigan, known womanizer of Hogwarts.

But before he could reach the shivering _girl, her case of the chills highly contradicting the furious blush that tinged her cheeks, the door to the Transfiguration classroom opened and who should burst in but Snape._

Harry noticed that Draco's cross demeanor had lightened considerably at the sight of his-rather, her, favourite professor. Snape quickly surveyed the tumultuous room before his eyes landed on Draco, quaking in her knickers in the middle of the room amidst dozens of gaping mouths. And, unluckily, he had also noticed Finnigan's position before his student and took this as a threatening action. A malicious act. More than once had he caught Finnigan and some random doing perverse actions behind the Transfiguration classroom during his nightly rounds. If Finnigan had touched her, there'd be hell to pay, from both him and Lucius Malfoy. 

"Stay where you are, Finnigan!" he barked, face purple with rage as he hurriedly removed his own cloak and draped it over Draco's shoulders, its wide breadth engulfing the petite girl under its bulk as she struggled to button it closed.

"What happened here?" he demanded, which all the Gryffindors deemed unnatural. Shouldn't he be wondering why his star student wasn't a boy but a girl?

Nobody stepped forward and as if it were entirely Seamus' fault, Snape's wrath was solely directed on his person. He stared at Snape, he was nearly as tall as the Potions master and shouldn't have had to cower beneath that patronizing and biased glare but this was _Snape after all, who wouldn't be intimidated and a bit scared. That was a lie. Seamus was quaking in his shoes, cursing the gods. Why couldn't he have gone to Eton instead?_

"Parkinson, would you mind explaining?" he growled ominously. "Now!"

Pansy strutted up to him. "Well, we were supposed to cast this spell on our partners, Draco was mine. The spell was supposed to well, I can't quite understand it myself, due to Weasley's vociferous snores." 

Leave it to Slytherins to somehow lay the blame on others when it was so obviously their own.

"Draco had me go first and, well… since she hadn't quite listened as well, we didn't know the right spell and I accidentally set her robes on fire. That was when McGonagall decided to intervene and made well to douse Draco with some highly acidic solution which immediately extinguished the unnatural fire."

It seemed quite natural to Parkinson as she referred to Malfoy as a _she. Quite unnerving, really._

"And McGonagall had her remove my clothes, which she complied to, quite eagerly, I might add. Looking for revenge, Parkinson?" Malfoy's voice had softened, it was now unforced and very musical. She now sounded like a girl, as well.

"How in the world was **I to discern that the acidity of the potion would render the adhesive in your bandages useless, then?" she sneered at Draco. Wait, how could someone name a girl Draco? "Not _my bleeding fault you decided to wear bandages rather than that corset contraption of yours."_**

"Is it my bloody job to foresee every idiotic action you are to commit?" she replied just as hotly.

Parkinson opened her mouth to reply but Snape had by now, analogous to everyone else in the classroom, heard enough and had decided to arbitrate.

"Stop. No," he pointed a finger at Pansy. "Shut your mouth," he whirled to give Draco a quelling glance. "You, as well. Now, I'll have to contact your father. Come."

"Where?"

"To my office."

He stalked towards the door, unconsciously glaring at any teen who dare gape at Malfoy, when he realized she hadn't followed him.

"What is it now, child?" he barked, turning to face her.

She made a face as she pointed at her feet. "Leg-locker curse. Only way McGonagall could've gotten my trousers off, only way she could get **any** man's trousers off."

Snape sighed impatiently and moved towards her, muttering the counterspell as he reached her and laid his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Walk," he ordered, leaving no room for contradictions.

She obeyed and sneered as she passed Ron.

"You're a-a…girl!" he concluded, staring at her in disbelief and well, stupidity.

She growled, though it seemed delicate coming from her vocal cords. "Brilliant observation, Weasel. And if you haven't realized what a girl looks like, then you're either utterly vapid or your girlfriend just isn't screwing you right."

Ron hung there with his mouth wide open with indignity while Snape did his best to suppress a chuckle. He dug his fingers into her shoulders, and reprimanded her with a soft, "Draco."

She shrugged her shoulders as they exited, rubbing at her crimson nose just as Ron called out, "Well, then, that makes two of us."

She turned and calmly articulated, "Burn in fucking hell, Weasley."

Snape glared at her. "I will not tolerate that sort of attitude from any young lady, especially from my own Goddaughter."

The latter part of his statement rang out behind him as they turned the corner, intending to enter his office. So did the cross-dressing Slytherin's reply.

"I will not have some sorry excuse of a Pure-blood scream insults at me!"

"Someone was stupid enough to assign Snape as a Godfather?" Seamus wondered out loud, collapsing onto the floor, dabbing at his sweat-glazed forehead with his tie.

"Well," Ron replied. "He _was assigned to guard a Malfoy by a _Malfoy___, what can you expect from that sorta lot?"_

Nearly every Gryffindor nodded in consent, while Crabbe stood there, insipidity finally deciding to temporarily leave him. "Draco's a girl?"

Hermione slapped her forehead.

*-----*

"WHAT?!" Lucius Malfoy raged, his fist unconsciously banging on Severus Snape's cold granite console, his face a distinct shade of tomato red.

Draco sighed and rolled her eyes. He had heard the first time she and Snape had explained, with great omission of earlier facts on her part, about the earlier event in the old bat's class. And she knew as much as the Potions master that he had understood when they had elucidated the circumstance for the second time, and the third and the fourth. They were in the midst of his fifth screaming seizure.

She sat on one of her Godfather's dark green, nearly a palpable shade of moss, really, couchette, her feet firmly planted on the floor, her back rigid and straight, shoulders pushed back, chin lifted just enough to emanate a powerful and condescending aura but in a subtle way and yet looking respectful enough to those of higher position.

As she had been constantly instructed. Analogous to the beliefs of her sexuality. That she was a boy, though it was only what she **should** be. The hands which she lay on her lap itched to rub at her arms. Though she was used to the nightly drafts that were thought to be nearly zero degrees, she had never encountered the chill with nearly nothing on her person.

Professor Snape's office wasn't as horrible as all her peers thought it to be, though. His office **at least had a fire place and the windows were closed, so as to hinder the Fall breeze, though it did little but brighten the place up. It did not exude any warmth and it took all her discipline to restrain her urge of squatting before it.**

It had served another purpose, though, and that had been to summon her father.

The place seemed like a tomb, though. 

"HOW COULD YOU HAVE LET THIS HAPPEN, BOY???" Lucius Malfoy roared, struggling to grab her by the scruff of her neck and succeeding to only grasp at Snape's heavy black cloak, causing her to fall to the floor, frowning at her father as she lay in a heap on the dust-covered floor.

"Wasn't my fault, really," she grumbled, eyeing the cloak indicatively, rubbing her arms for emphasis. 

He sneered at her and threw the cloak over her head, disregarding her improper, incomplete sentence, instead, turning around to face Snape. "AND YOU! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HIS GUARDIAN, HIS SODDING GODFATHER! HOW COULD YOU HAVE LET THIS HAPPEN! TELLING DUMBLEDORE ABOUT THIS EMBARRASSMENT WAS DEGRADING ENOUGH WITHOUT HAVING ANYONE ELSE FIND OUT!"

"Breathe, Lucius," Snape instructed calmly.

"Yes, daddy. Don't forget about your blood pressure," Draco added worriedly, pulling the cloak on and wincing as she thought of another time when she was forced by uncontrollable circumstances to don another man's clothes. But this was different. Snape's didn't smell half as good as Potter's. She growled at her wayward thoughts and decided to keep focused on the situation at hand.

"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NEVER TO CALL ME THAT, YOU INSOLENT BOY?" Lucius returned his attentions back at her, glaring madly, fists continuously clenching, leaving angry unwarranted marks on skin nearly as pale as hers.

She decided to hide a wince, knowing that seeing her in a bout of weakness would only infuriate him further. She clamped her mouth shut, deciding that such action would be wise. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at her father with a restless trepidation, assured that he would never cause her physical impairment for her mother's wrath was well-known around the Malfoy household. But a fearful thought suddenly dawned upon her. She had humiliated him, to what lengths would he go through to gain such respect back?

He had already failed his family by failing to produce an heir. She was the first in quite a notable number of Malfoys, meaning all the Malfoys to ever exist, to be a female. There were twins, yes, but those were scarce, one in a thousand, actually, both male and the younger of the two had been slayed, to preserve the purity of their lineage. She was the only female and being that Malfoys could only impregnate their wives once, she had been spared, only to be thrust upon the world as a Malfoy heir. A **male Malfoy heir.**

Lucius' normally carefully paced out steps had suddenly become uneven and erratic, that indicated that he was not in a normal state of mind. "WELL, ANSWER ME, BOY! DID THOSE ETIQUETTE CLASSES I HAD SET UP FOR YOU DO NO GOOD? I'LL HAVE THOSE TEACHERS FLOGGED!"

Snape placed a consoling hand on her father's arm, pulling him away from her. She awarded him with a grateful nod that she was not sure he saw for the Potions Master did not acknowledge it.

"Lucius," he began unflinchingly as Lucius Malfoy's vehemence, as notorious as his wife's, if not more so to his business partners, focused in on him. "The problem here, I think, would be that you are not speaking to a boy-"

"YES! HE'S NEARLY A MAN, NOW! IF HE INSISTS ON ACTING LIKE A CHILDISH IMP I-"

"The problem is, old friend, that you are speaking not to a child, nor a boy but to a **woman."**

She frowned at the insinuation of his words. She had never thought of herself in such a manner. A Malfoy, absolutely, a female in a male's clothing, yes, a disgrace, sometimes even as the man she was to be once the wizards her father had set to creating the potion that would make her everything the world had always thought her to be but never a woman. It seemed too foreign, too final, that she would never become what her father expected her to be.

"OVER MY DEAD CARCASS! HE WILL BE A MALFOY! IT IS WHAT WE HAVE WORKED SO HARD FOR!" he turned, absolutely livid, looking down at her. "AND WHAT CAN YOU SAY ABOUT THIS UNWARRANTED MISHAP, BO-GI…CHILD!"

"It wasn't my fault, _father," she sniffed disdainfully. "It was that bloody Parkinson's blunder! This wouldn't have happened if not for her ineptness to listen to the simplest instruction!"_

Lucius Malfoy's beet-red visage turned an alarming shade of purple as his eyes sparkled with malevolence.

"And you better not think that, Lucius," Snape reprimanded. "Killing her is out of the question, same with casting a memory charm on all those students. This is Hogwarts, if you can remember. By now, everyone up to Filch most likely knows about Draco."

Lucius eyes came to rest on Draco as she nodded in agreement. "That rumor about Sirius Black trying to kill Weasley traveled like the wind. Reached us in about five minutes, don't know how, though. This place is a bleedin' gossip mill."

"Then what do you suggest we do about this?" Lucius steepled his fingers, seating himself behind Severus' desk, elbows perched on the lackluster wood, the firelight casting threatening shadows on his already treacherous visage. He gave both his daughter and her Godfather perfidious expectant glances.

"Well, Draco, what do you suggest?" Snape turned to her, a fervent look upon his features. She growled at him for laying the quandary on her shoulders.

"In any case, I think that we shouldn't do anything at all," she proclaimed boldly, then wincing at her words. What in the world was she thinking? But she couldn't take those words back, it was as impossible a wish as hoping to have been born a male but as Professor Snape had stated, Hogwarts was an ever-functioning grape-vine. It was an absolute phenomenon that that escapade with Potter in the Infirmary hadn't leaked out into the student body. 

"WHAT DO YOU EXPECT US TO DO, THEN? EVEN IF I SEND YOU OFF TO DURMSTRANG, THIS IS BOUND TO LEAVE THESE BOUNDARIES AND SPREAD INTO THE OUTSIDE WORLD!"

"Father, please, calm down," she soothed, laying a placating hand on his shoulders.

"CALM DOWN? CALM DOWN!" he heaved, taking in large amounts of air. "YOU EXPECT ME TO CALM DOWN AFTER THIS PRED-"

His possibly ceaseless tirade thankfully came to an end as his child fed him a vial of heart-potion, provided by one very irritated and apprehensive Professor Snape.

"Yes, Father, take deep breaths…" she emphasized her point by demonstrating, looking quite like those parents in some Lamaze class. "Think of how Mother would react if she sees you in this state of disarray. You'd once more send her in shock. Now, how would that scene seem to society, then?"

Lucius nodded, completely agreeing with her. He had already been thought of as a sinister man, there were enough circulating rumours of his abusing his wife and torturing his child, never mind what one stating him to posses a wife with an ailing heart would do to their perfect image.

"It seems to me Father, that once I become what you have led them to believe I am, this wouldn't matter anymore. After those damned wizards finish up that potion, I will have become a true Malfoy heir, wherein nothing they may say or do can ever alter that fact."

"But they **will** have known what you are."

"But I would have completely become what I am to be that there would be no doubt that I never was."

Snape nodded. "Draco has specified most of the important points in this argument. I, for one, think her decision is fitting for other than killing the entire Hogwarts population would be suicide and would accomplish nothing."

Lucius sneered at him before turning his gaze on his child. "Very well, I see no other way out of this whole godsforsaken mess. Your mother will be quite enthralled by this recent piece information."

Yes, Narcissa Malfoy had always wanted her child to be female and had nearly bullied Lucius Malfoy into presenting her to the World as one, had she not mysteriously taken ill at the moment of Draco's entrance into society. We say mysterious for she had suddenly recovered the day after that party. She had also been accountable for Parkinson's knowledge about Draco's sexuality, forbidding her child to associate with muddied boys playing Quidditch as a child and encouraging Pansy and Draco to spend their time indoors, buying an extensive collection of Celestina Warbeck dolls and a dollhouse the size of an entire room to appease both children's restlessness.

Draco nodded, quite relieved that her father wouldn't be decapitating her life-long playmate any time soon. That task was left entirely up to her and she was glad for that opportunity, indeed.

"Now, since we've that cleared up, I expect that you not change anything about yourself, your dress, your manner, your speech, your physical appearance to suggest that that incident in Professor McGonagall's had ever happened. Do you understand?"

She nodded, once before he turned to Snape.

"I also entrust you, though it may be a misplaced confidence, at that, but since no one in the immediate area is available, I will have to rely on you to ward off any unwanted attention or distractions. Keep her away from **them**."

She couldn't quite comprehend their conversation, but she rarely ever did. Snape, on the other hand, knew, of course. He wasn't blind enough to not see how charming Draco's appearance was. Why anybody ever believed her to be male was incomprehensible to him. He reasoned it out to be stupidity and fear of Lucius Malfoy's wrath. Though he knew he might have been a bit biased about her appearance.

She resembled Narcissa Malfoy to the hair.

He and Lucius had discussed this long ago, the moment Draco had been old enough to distinguish the divergences between her and other children. Male and female. He was to keep away any unappealing **male **attention, meaning** all** male attention. He wasn't sure on how Lucius Malfoy would go on about preserving his lineage, seeing as to Draco was not and never would be attracted to females. Maybe he had bribed that Parkinson woman to have her child promised to Draco, but that was insipid, they had suitable enough affluence to make them part of wealthy society. No amount would have been large enough for them.

Besides, Parkinson seemed to fancy Zabini and treat Draco as the vacuous younger sibling she would never have. No romantical emotions could ever come out from that. This was all too complicated for anyone to figure out.

But if there was one topic he and Lucius agreed on, it was Draco. Draco's well-being at that and keeping her away from hormonal teenage boys was their number one priority.

"Of course I will," Severus Snape replied, casting Draco a wayward glance, knowing full-well that she could not grasp their conversation. 

"Very well, then. Severus, I bid you good day," he then turned to Draco. "And I expect proper Malfoy behaviour from you."

She nodded, hair falling into her face causing her Father to grunt in disdain. He patted her shoulder before leaving the office and entering the fireplace, clearly stating his destination before disappearing in a cloud of emerald smoke as jade-gold flames licked the hearth. 

The enduring light it left reflected off his child's eyes as she wished they were less than what they were, imperfect, unlike what they were, paragons of old Wizard blood. She couldn't display any of her true emotions. Disdain was the only emotion people most likely thought he exhibited.

Allowing her Godfather to distract her attention from the fireplace, she had him lead her out of his office and off towards the Slytherin dormitories, careful to relieve the floor from his robe and once again drape it over Draco's lithe frame, casting murderous glances at all that dare to cross their path.

*        *       *       *       *


	7. Chapter Six

THE OPPOSITE of SEX 

By: DaDomz (Branw3nand Lestat)

DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.

WARNINGS:

1.) This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand.

2.) Also an R/Hr fic so be warned!

3.) Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.

DEDICATIONS:

1.) Mech; Ron has his 'rightful' position now.

**Chapter Six: Harry Potter and the Naïveté Within**

Harry Potter paced out even steps as he exited the Infirmary and headed for the Great Hall, trying hard to make it seem less of the escape than it actually was. It was just about time for dinner and he was quite famished. The chocolate that seemed to be a staple for every perfect meal in Mdm. Pomfrey's disillusioned mind didn't agree with his stomach all that well. He unconsciously lay a hand on his ribs before catching himself. The MediWitch had done a wonderful job fixing him up, as usual. Though, he would have to give those Hufflepuff Beaters, Barnes and Marshall, some well-deserved credit. 

They sure got him good.

But he got them back better, catching the Snitch and all, nearly concurrent to his impact with both Bludgers. It made him wonder where the Gryffindor team's own Beaters were. Ron had decided to play Keeper, then, seeing as to Dennis had taken ill. Ron's position had been taken up by Shivhan Traverson, a quite potent Third Year, though evidently lacking in training. Ron had nearly killed the Creeveys and Mdm. Pomfrey for that, though he did discover his truer calling as a Keeper.

His brief stint at the Infirmary did save him from having to complete that three feet essay for Transfiguration, though as he now thought about it, he might've gladly endured broken bones and that to escape from Mdm. Pomfrey's disgusted sniffles about the dangers of Quidditch, her tirades on why it should be banned altogether and the cot in which she laid him on.

He hadn't been allowed to rise unless it was to use the bathroom and that was just irritating. The plus side, if one could call it that, was his discovering that Mdm. Pomfrey only washed the sheets once a month. Such data was evident for the cot in which she had laid him on had been the same bed Malfoy had occupied no less than a week ago. That, in itself, was unnerving.

Drifting off to sleep with that scent, relaxing as it was, had been unsettling. Especially since with every move he made, from the tiniest fidget to restlessly rolling about to find a comfortable position as he slept, caused disparate yet surprisingly not incongruous scents to envelope him.

Now, as he approached the Great Hall, he found it even more so. Through his disgust, he could perceive the numerous little clusters in which students, in groups of three or four, had lingered behind, poorly concealing themselves while gossiping. The new rumour this week? He didn't know, but it just had to be better than the one of Filch's tryst with Mdm. Hooch. Thinking about that made him want to churn out his lunch.

Even more so were the rumors of McGonagall's queer dominatrix inclinations and Hagrid's more than questionable fetish for Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Never one to have believed or showed any interest in such trivial things, he entered the already open majestic double doors of the Great Hall and was surprised at what he heard, or rather what he had not heard. The usually boisterous hall was only halfway filled, mostly Hufflepuffs had gone missing, he silently noted. Whether this had any particular relevance to the immediate situation, he was unsure.

Spotting Ron and Hermione, he quickly made his way towards them, seating himself right across the unusually silent couple. Ron seemed to have a look of abject horror on his face while Hermione took in her surroundings in silent consternation. Wryly, he noticed that most of the current attendees of the Great Hall had similar expressions, those and that of ill-concealed mirth. He wondered if this epidemic had reached the teachers.

McGonagall seemed a bit too reticent; Dumbledore, his usual amused benevolence; Sprout trying to peer over the enormous turkey inconveniently set before him; Trelawney with smug gratification; Hagrid with utter perplexity and Snape, Snape was glaring unmercifully at every male student in his immediate vicinity, and even those vacating the Hall.

Harry was now obstinately sure that the news had something to do with Snape… perhaps it entailed his strange nightly rendezvous with Sinistra and their more than questionable bondage methods, appalling as that may seem. 

He returned his attention to his two preoccupied best friends who'd barely noticed his arrival, if at all.

"Ron? 'Mione?"

Hermione blinked a couple of times, probably clearing her vision before allowing her eyes to settle on Harry. He offered a grin.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, reaching over, struggling to envelope him in a hug which might have been impossible to execute had he not leaned over to aid her. She removed her arms from his neck and asked, "When did you arrive?"

"Just now, actually." 

She gave him a sheepish smile. "Very sorry."

"Consider it forgotten."

She smiled once more and he was reminded once more of Ron's nearly unreasonable obsession with her. Though he was relieved to state that his appreciation was limited to that of brotherly pride. He only hoped that they'd get married before they mauled one another.

They both turned to regard Ron who still had a flabbergasted expression on his face.

"Ron?"

"Love?"

Harry shook his head and turned to see what had held Ron's amazingly short attention span on the other side of the room. He scanned the expressions of the various students occupying the Hall with them but found none that would extract this particular reaction from Ron. Nothing warranted this look of sheer incredulity.

"Care to enlighten me, Hermione?"

Her head whipped around to confront him and she shrugged nonchalantly, too blasé for his liking. "Must be the food."

Harry gave her a look of pure disbelief. "Must be."

No need to badger her for answers she was unwilling to give. Ron didn't seem to be in too much danger and the Quidditch Captain would most likely confide in him later, if he remembered to ask.

*        *         *        *          *

Pansy Parkinson flicked a cautious glance over Draco, who sat beside her, silently reducing her piece of steak into bite-sized pieces as if it were absolutely necessary to the world's continued existence that they be perfectly even. But Pansy wasn't even going to try to throw a scathing remark at the blonde. She was in too much trouble already.

She could curse herself for her idiocy. Revealing everything the Malfoys, well Lucius Malfoy, to be exact, had worked tirelessly for in the span of a few seconds. She wanted to slap herself, yet thank the gods for her continued subsistence. She wondered how Draco had talked Malfoy Sr. out of murdering her.

But she was grateful enough as it was, no need to bother the girl. Though she was a bit pleased with herself for revealing Draco's true identity. She and Narcissa had been conspiring about it for ages. She herself was not partial to Lucius Malfoy's insistence on Draco's cross-dressing. But she was only Draco's playmate, not entitled to an opinion, in his eyes, but not to his wife's.

Despite her _immense regret towards her actions, foiling Malfoy Sr.'s plans and all, she liked to think of her calculated counter-plan as some sort of favor that Draco had yet to appreciate, though it seemed that its other recipient, the rest of the world, had realized, right off the bat, her donation to the world's varied human species. Draco, in herself, was atypical enough when compared to the rest of the female species to garner a different category, one all for herself._

Before they had gone to Hogwarts, Narcissa had cornered her right beside Draco's bedroom and asked her of her opinions on Draco. Meaning if she thought of her as male or female. She vehemently replied that she was quite partial to the latter and Narcissa had nearly bawled out her relief. Good God! The woman had thought she wanted to marry Draco! Even thinking of it now, she was still quite disgusted. Yes, given her escorting the little devil to the Yule Ball had caused numerous rumors of their supposed relationship to surface but she had done that out of necessity; her life or reputation as Lucius Malfoy had so subtly put it, but that did not equate with those talks surfacing about her sticking her tongue down Draco's throat.

For heaven's sake! Draco had been just about her height then and she had surpassed the twit in that area by now. She liked a man whose eyes she could look up into, one who would take her in his arms and…

Yes, well, let's not get into that, shall we? Who knows who might be looking at her now, observing her too crimson pallor-

She regarded her plate and began to eat, surveying the populace of Hogwarts, the ones that decided to enter the Great Hall for dinner instead of scurry about the castle gossiping about the incident in Transfigurations which happened a few hours ago and to which she was present and a major participant. 

She pitied those poor souls, those male students to which Snape relentlessly glared at, regardless of age, as they swept appreciative or astonished gazes at Draco only to look up and encounter Snape's death gaze. Weasley, for one, she noticed, had been staring at Draco with absolute disgust since the start of dinner. Snape had nearly given up on trying to dissuade him. He shot Weasley a glare or two in between glaring at every boy who dare stare at his Goddaughter with ill-concealed admiration.

She couldn't blame them, though. Even she would have been blind as to not perceive Draco's ostensibly unnatural beauty and that strange allure she had inherited from her mother. People here were just plain stupid. Draco, a boy, with her little prissy ways and her non-violent fight-starting methods. Just idiots. Served them right to be intensely glowered at by Snape.

Well, those glares couldn't add up to the one he gave Potter as the boy entered. Pansy couldn't help but eye him appreciatively. He was every Hogwarts girl's fantasy, present company, still preoccupied with dicing her steak, excluded.

He reminded her of that other scarring conversation she had with Narcissa back in the summer after her Third Year.

_"Now, dear," she smiled at Pansy, looking up from the gilded mirror, temporarily frustrating the house-elf that was painstakingly applying her make-up. "Do you know why I have called you here?"_

_Pansy shook her head, eyeing the cosmetics with veiled interest._

_"Have you any interest in boys at all, Pansy?" She turned back to face the house-elf perched on the sturdy and fashionable vanity desk as it continued to apply some mascara on her face, glancing at Pansy from the corner of her eye just in time to see her daughter's best friend blush._

_"I take it you do."_

_Pansy nodded, quite unsure as to where this conversation was headed. Narcissa Malfoy was a pleasant enough woman whose faults may have lied at her obsessive tendencies over her daughter. Though in this situation, it was highly rational, what with Draco being a cross-dresser and all._

_"What about Draco, then?"_

_She knew it. This would all eventually lead up to Draco. The house-elf, Twinky, had come from Narcissa's ancestral home and had raised both Narcissa and Draco had always known of Draco's predicament turned to face Pansy, eagerly awaiting an answer. Narcissa was not at all unfazed by this, anyone who showed any remote interest in Draco, whose opinions on the child agreed with her own, was a possible confidant and co-conspirator. Pansy had been unknowingly included in this group since she was ten._

_"None that I know of.__ She shows no remote interest in any boy. Well, other than that Weasley," she let out a disgusted sniffle before continuing. "And that Potter. She seems determined to make life miserable for them."_

_Twinky__ let out a disgruntled sort of sigh, rolling her abnormally huge irises before applying some blush to Narcissa's cheeks._

_Narcissa__ let out a soft curse, most possibly to her absent husband before resuming the conversation. "That unhealthy obsession with those boys just has to stop! I could just strangle that man for putting her up to this!"_

_Her exclamations were delicate and refined. How could a woman like this produce a child like Draco, whose greatest amusement in life was participating in belching contests with Blaise, Vince and Greg? That and spitting! Yes, she might have had a tiny-enormous!- crush on Zabini but his blasé and quite abhorrent fixations were absolutely repugnant and in their First Year at Hogwarts, he had taken to the notion of bringing Draco under his tutelage, teaching her how to draw up quite an amount of phlegm in her throat, spit it into the air and have it land back in one's mouth._

_She had thought of Draco as above it back then, being the aristocrat she was but some Neanderthalic urge that Pansy had supposed only appeared in men had managed to surface in Draco and had embedded this strange concept in the younger girl of having to prove her 'guy-ness' through initiating senseless acts. Pansy had unluckily been on the receiving end of that particular instance, having had a large ball of spittle land on her brand new white silk frock. That was when the entire Slytherin population had then learned of her ear-shattering shrieks and had resolved to never play pranks on her for hear of shattering their eardrums._

_"Pansy," her voice was quite serious now as she laid a light hand on Pansy's shoulder. "I want you to promise me that you will find my daughter a suitable boy to accompany her to this Yule Ball. And please tell her to refrain from disturbing **those** boys. Who knows what ideas they might get."_

_She bit her lip to refrain from screaming profanities at Mrs. Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy would kill her!!! His 'son' accompanied by a fellow male student? He'd 'Avada Kedavra' her on the spot! Besides, Lucius had already cornered her a few days ago, berating her for her detrimental influence on Draco and ordering her to have Draco escort her to the upcoming Ball. Why did she have to be associated with this highly dysfunctional lot?_

_She wanted to go with Blaise! It just wasn't fair. But she was sharp enough to refrain from mentioning all of that to both Lucius and Narcissa. Instead she nodded._

_She was awarded with an indulgent smile. _

_God, this woman **was **thick. Unbelievably so, in fact. If she expected Pansy to risk life and limb for her precious Draco then she was absolutely nutters._

_"Find her some nice Ravenclaw boys, I've seen the current batch of Slytherins and they just don't seem right for her, they all seem so… I'm at a loss here…Oh, yes! Odd and smugly flamboyant like her father. We can't have that, now can we? Well, maybe a Gryffindor, Harry Potter, you say? Well, he doesn't seem like much, not quite handsome enough for Draco. Those Witch Weekly pictures of him don't seem much..."_

_Right, she also had the power to make Draco fall in love with Weasley. Well, according to Draco's forecast, flaunting her nonexistent Seeing abilities, Granger would end up with Potter. It was either him or the Weasel. Pansy had bet on the latter, the safer choice._

_Next, this woman would be color coordinating Draco's dress robes. Probably pink, _no something much more blatant than pink, fuschia or magenta maybe.__

_"Oh, Twinky!" the statuesque blonde woman gestured at her wardrobe. "Set out my turquoise robes and set up an appointment with Madam Zhuan. Have her bring out her rose pink swatches of fabric. And her designs for young women, have her unearth her records of Draco's measurements. And while you're at it, would you retrieve that gold box inlaid with emeralds. Yes, the one with the ebony backdrop. Oh, those rubies would look positively magnificent against the color magenta and would enhance the ivory color of her skin!" She clapped her hands in excitement as inspiration lit her eyes._

_'Damn it! **I **may have true Seer aptitude or maybe I've spent so much time with these people.' _

_Lucius__ had already called on Madam Zhuan, their private dress maker, and had her whip up the smartest-looking dress robes for Draco and for her, as well, so that they would match, to which Madam Zhuan cheerily concurred, clasping her hands together with plans of designs floating around her head._

_She knew Malfoy Sr. expected her to marry Draco, which in itself was disgusting enough. First Draco was a girl, no potion nor spell would ever change that. Secondly, she was nearly a year older than the little monster. And third, she had already planned out her wedding to Blaise. Mrs. Pansy Zabini sounded great. Mrs. Pansy Malfoy did not. In fact, it sounded horrible._

_She had always dreamed of a garden wedding, with Blaise as her husband and Draco fulfilling the maid-of-honor role, though now it seemed as if she were leaning towards the best man position. She wanted lots of sunshine and dandelions on the lush green grass during her marriage ceremony and diamonds embedded onto her nine foot long trail._

_And someday, hopefully, she'd be surrounded by the lovely noise of children; Blaise Jr. and Patricia Parkinson-Zabini. Oh how she wanted a daughter, helping raise Draco had been challenging but wonderful… _

_If Draco's inner Aphrodite didn't emerge soon then who knows what hell her life would turn into…_

_She was screwed._

Now, it wasn't as if she thought Potter was perfect for little Draco, he would look perfect with anyone. But other than torturing Potter under her father's orders, what other reason did Draco have for bothering Potter? Draco and Potter, even the thought made her want to laugh out loud. He sat down and patiently waited for his otherwise occupied best friends to notice him, serving himself huge spoonfuls of potatoes.

Draco would never admit it but Pansy could sense some inexplicable sort of attraction between the two, one so palpable that it was even abysmal that the thick-headed occupants of the castle couldn't quite grasp the concept and therefore set itat the back of their minds. Well, considering that throughout the course of that implied relationship, Draco had been a male… Right, well, now that Draco was officially a female she could finally approach Potter. He wasn't all that horrible looking but Draco had yet to grasp at the notion of liking boys.

She observed him with a mix of interest and disdain. He had grown over the years, nearly as tall as Weasley but not as gangly. And he had some rather well-defined muscles, though she was unsure if it could all be accounted to Quidditch. All he ever did was fly around and reach out for the Snitch. Fat lot of work and energy that used up. Draco, who occupied the same position on their team, hadn't grown a single inch nor gotten stronger for all the practice she put them through. That theory could probably be attributed to genes. Strangely enough, they both came across as perfect.

Granger reached out to hug him and she suddenly remembered that long ago bet she and Draco had conducted. Malfoy never did pay up. She turned to address the shorter girl but halted, her mouth open halfway. Was ickle Dracie staring at Potter?

That was just wonderful, for her.  
  


If Draco and Potter didn't mesh well, Adrian Pucey could be considered as a second option. She was desperate to escape the farce of a marriage she and Draco would have if she failed and those Potions Masters Malfoy Sr. had hired succeeded. Besides, Pucey wasn't all that bad, in fact, he could be considered as a walking dream if tall, ruggedly handsome men were much more preferred by the school population. That boy was only a few inches taller than Draco, for heaven's sake!

The subject of Pansy's musings had finally begun masticating her frighteningly equally cut steak and was, to the untrained eye, staring off into space. Well, Pansy's eye was more than accustomed to Draco's habits and she was practically ogling the boy in her own assessing way. Could that be a spark of interest in those astonishingly clear grey eyes of hers?

She bent her blonde head over her plate, speared a perfectly cubed portion of meat with her fork and daintily stuck it in her mouth, content with staring off into nothing, or Potter, once more.

"What are you looking at, Parkinson?"

Pansy could've slapped herself for her slip up but instead, covered it up with a playful grin. "Nothing."

"Better moon over Zabini. I've no interest in you, never will have."

She was tempted to reply with, 'Oh, because you're so interested in Potter's ass right now.' She was quite proud with her limit of self-control. Wait, when did Draco know about her little crush, well, maybe obsession, with Blaise? 

"You've read my journal! You bitch!"

'Oops. And I had so thought I had the upper hand. Damn her manipulating nature.'

"I think you mean bastard. And what with you having left it on my desk, of course I read it. And shut the bleedin' hell up, you fucking cow, I'm a bit preoccupied and have no desire to conduct idle prattle with you."

Preoccupied indeed.

Something was definitely wrong with Draco. The insults were delivered with the least amount of life in them, didn't even bother to defend herself or call Pansy a number of slighting names for leaving her possessions on Draco's pristine desk.

"Are you quite well?"

"Of course I am. Why would you think otherwise? What with the entire school discovering my true gender and everyone gossiping about me behind my back, why wouldn't everything be all right?"

Blatant sarcasm, not Draco's style.

"And to add to all that, the soddin' Weasel's shooting me gazes of pure disbelief and the Mudblood's scrutinizing every single thing about me and my feeling violated. But other than all of that, I'm absolutely fine."

"At least Potter's had his back to you the entire time."

"Sod off."

*        *         *         *         *

"Bloody fucking hell!" 

Draco yelped as she turned and came face to face with a humungous Bludger, nearly losing her nose if she hadn't swerved out of the way at just the exact moment. She wildly searched for Crabbe and Goyle, finally spotting them by the hoops, the former staring at the copious variety of birds and butterflies tittering about his head while the latter absent-mindedly picked his nose, clubs nowhere in sight.

"Crabbe! Goyle!"

Both blinked several times before turning their heads in her direction, staring absently at their Captain. "Where in the-" She ducked as another Bludger made a pass at her cranium and redirected itself at Pansy, who was busy flirting with Zabini. "Hell have you both-" She ducked as Pucey ineptly swung the Quaffle at her. "Been? And Pucey?!?! If you do that again, I'll hit you over the head with my broom! What is wrong with you people?! Do you want to lose another bleeding game? Being labeled as losers, common rabble, might be quite alright with you lot but I, for one, am not!"

He gave her a charming grin before diving back down to retrieve the red ball. That boy could beguile the trousers off anyone. Hmm…if that potion didn't work she could always…Draco Pucey…Eurgh! She never even thought of that, never passed her mind at all. Besides, she never really liked dark haired boys. He did have nice brown eyes…Shut up! She was beginning to sound like Parkinson!

That was when the other Bludger had decided it had neglected her and was determined to demonstrate its remorse by attacking her. She didn't notice it until it was a few inches from her. She tried to pull up and luckily or unfortunately, it struck her broom handle. Eyes widened, its color changing to a stormy grey as she fell to the ground. Her mouth opened and shut itself as she let go of the remnants of her broom, plunging fifty feet to the ground. If she didn't break her neck, then she'd be paralyzed. She only hoped Mdm. Pomfrey could cure paralysis.

Out of its own accord, her body twisted into a somersault fifteen feet from the ground and she managed to land on all fours as she alighted on the ground, dust spreading all around her, her robes stained from the damp grass. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She could perceive Pansy's screams from a distance and could feel the air shift around her as Blaise quickly alighted a few feet above her, leaping off his broom, scrambling over to reach her. Blaise was a sort of older brother that she never had. Sometimes she wondered if Pansy bullied him into taking care of her, as if Vince and Greg weren't enough fortification.

"Draco, Draco, you all right?" 

He took her elbow and helped her into a sitting position, lifting her palms to his eyes, inspecting them.

"I'm fine, Blaise," she sniffed disdainfully. Oh, sure, she wanted people to fuss over her but not in this way. She did not want people to treat her as some sort of invalid because of her gender. Girls like Parkinson enjoyed it, she did not. Not yet, anyway, according to the cow.

"Oh my, oh my, oh my…"

Parkinson was hyperventilating. Trying to draw Zabini's attention, most likely.

"Shut up, Pansy. There's nothing wrong with me."

"YOU INCONSIDERATE LITTLE PRAT!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE FINE? YOU TOOK A GREAT FALL! DID YOU EVEN CONSIDER MY DAMN FEELINGS WHEN YOU DECIDED TO JUMP OFF YOU BROOM?"

Pansy took her by her ear and dragged her up while she screamed into it. Draco winced before slapping her hand away.

"I did not jump off! I've more sense than that!" She rubbed her abused and quite raw ear huffily. "Whose idea was it to have Crabbe and Goyle on the team? Yours and my father's! But the incompetent buffoons they are, they'll likely kill me than protect me!"

"YOU'RE GOING TO SEE MDM. POMFREY THIS INSTANT, YOUNG LADY!!!"

Draco shot her a patented sneer, snatching her damaged broom from the ground and stalking off the field, that is, until Blaise grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and carried her over his shoulder towards the Infirmary, her screaming and kicking all the way as Pansy simpered at her for she had in all likelihood ordered Zabini to haul her off.

*          *          *          *           *


	8. Chapter Seven

THE OPPOSITE of SEX 

By: DaDomz (Branw3nand Lestat)

DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.

WARNINGS:

1.) This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand.

2.) Also an R/Hr fic so be warned!

3.) Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.

**Authors' Notes: **IMPORTANT!!! I think that we might have stated at some point or another during this story that Harry had somehow quite astonishingly defeated Voldemort. Now, whoever can state that chapter and point out at exactly what place it was cleverly shunted into a paragraph, please leave a review and tell us, please, we're desperate to fix that! Voldie did not die!!! Was not defeated!!! And this might provoke you to look for it since we can't find it, we'll send you the Eighth Chapter just to express our gratitude!

**Chapter Seven: Stargazing and its Negative Side-Effects**

Ron fought to stifle a yawn as he blearily took in his surroundings. Astronomy was indisputably the most useless subject in the Hogwarts curriculum. Divination was something you chose, out of idiocy, but Astronomy? Not that Professor Sinistra was particularly horrifying, or something like that. In fact, she was gorgeous, in that middle-aged sort of way. And as an added bonus, she absolutely abhorred Snape, but that bit wasn't important to the current situation. It was half-past midnight and he could perceive a few subtle noises emanating from beyond the classroom door.

Couples with enough gall to attempt their nightly endeavors while classes were conducted. If he weren't too tired, he'd have been snickering at those near-deafening noises. Sinistra had a lightly breezy voice, not to be mistaken with Trelawney's purposely mystically foggy one. It bothered him that he couldn't switch that with another subject. An hour in that bat's class was more than sufficient, thankyouverymuch.

He only wished that the teachers would have enough sense in them than place Gryffindors and Slytherins in the same classes. After all those years, they've still not learned their lessons. Deranged cows, the lot of them. Speaking of unbalanced educators, Sinistra was discussing the complexities of two particular constellations; Lupus and Cygnus.

He was too exhausted to even comment on any of them, that and just plain uninterested in the subject matter at hand. Hermione, on the other hand, was, as usual, assiduously taking down notes, the soft scratching of quill on parchment doing nothing to relieve him of his lethargy. Harry had already begun dozing off, head on a hand propped up on the table by his elbow. Distinguishable snoring came from the back of the class. He turned to regard them. Typical. Crabbe and Goyle. And a little bit to their right, Parkinson and Malfoy.

He shuddered. Just the thought of that little bugger… Stupid cross-dressing idiot. To think that all those invectives had been delivered by a **girl**… Not that he was discriminated against them in anyway. Hermione was a girl and she was the smartest person he knew. But Draco Malfoy, a girl. The ubiquitous thorn in his side, a female. And he'd thought he'd finally understood them, what with his dating Hermione and all. She had been impossible to understand! Even now, he still couldn't anticipate her every action.

Maybe Malfoy's being a girl was clear, though everyone had just been too thick to see it. Malfoy was volatile, ready to verbally spar with them, to stand up for him—herself, then threatening to set Crabbe and Goyle on them, sometimes even Zabini or sometimes seemingly unaffected by the world. Yep, women. No one could understand them.

He swiveled back in his chair just in time to observe Professor Sinistra casually walk by their desks, and without breaking stride nor speech, casually swipe Harry's forearm off the table and continue on, not pausing to check if her student, who had banged his head on the table due to lack of support, was okay.

The entire class, save himself and Hermione laughed. He tried to conceal a chuckle as Harry lifted his head off the desk, staring stupidly, while Hermione mouthed admonitions, shaking her head in that infuriatingly adorable manner. Harry rubbed his crimson forehead, shrugging, as he tried to get his surroundings into focus.

Ron snorted at him.

"Harry, must you do that? You've not paid attention in Astronomy since the start of the year. How can you expect to succeed in life if you refuse to focus?"

"Shut up, 'Mione."

She turned to glare at him and he cowered. Being attached did not do wonders to one's persona as was believed. He'd learned to shy away every time Hermione focused that frown his way.

"He's barely heard you. Shouldn't you save your enlightening words for when he can seriously take them to heart?"

Yes, finally achieving the impossible, having Hermione fall in love with him, could turn one into a yellow-livered chicken in her imposing presence.  
  


She raised her eyebrow, unsure of what to make of his comment; apology, sarcasm or unfazed impartiality. But she did suppress whatever remark might have come to her head at his first statement.

Sinistra had finally finished her usual rounds and had achieved her primary intention, waking the entire class. She had returned to her desk and was now explaining the point of their current exercise.

"Now, I would like all of you to locate either of the constellations on the board and specify the exact number of stars in them; specify their colors and uses. Research on ten other constellations coupled with Lupus and Cygnus are expected to be laid on my desk by the start of my class next week. I'd like you to pair up-"

At this, everyone had stood and begun screaming at their desired partner. Him and Hermione smiling at one another to indicate their coupling. He moved to Hermione and they exited the room, heading for the Tower, along with the rest of the pairs in their class. Here's to hoping none of them stumble upon a couple in a compromising position up there. He'd been in that predicament once and it was an experience he'd not want to repeat.

*          *          *           *          *

Damn that Sinistra. Yes, she had a personal vendetta against Snape, but why did he have to be the one to suffer for it? He trudged up the steps to the Astronomy Tower, just a few steps ahead of his partner, Malfoy, insistent on reaching it before he decided to kill the little monster, who, by way of greeting, decided to step on his foot, none to lightly, might he add. Stupid little brat.

Why did he have to have fallen asleep in class? He might've had Ron here, or stuck the deserting prat with the little whiner here, not that Malfoy actually whined, it was just something that one associated with a on his foot. Stupid Ron, not giving him enough warning to ask maybe even Neville to pair up with him. He couldn't possibly cause any mishaps with only a telescope as an instrument.

He vaguely wondered how he had managed to get to Malfoy that one particularly scarring night when, even now, the steps seemed infinite. He didn't notice that Malfoy was now in step with him until the shorter boy pulled him out of a snogging couple's way, just directly in his path. There wasn't enough light to foresee the pair until one was a step away from them.

He turned from the oblivious couple to the Slytherin who still kept pace beside him, nonplussed. How in the world-? Draco still continued to scale the stone steps and as Harry gazed at him at timely intervals, face a mixture of amazement and perplexity. He took the blonde into consideration and noted that the normally steely gray eyes nearly glowed a light azure in the dark. He shook his head. Human eyes did not glow. He really needed some sleep.

He nearly let out a sigh of relief as they approach the Tower proper and they advanced upon the only unoccupied telescope, which, by chance, happened to be situated between Ron and Hermione and Parkinson and Zabini.

Draco sauntered over to it, careful to stay close to Parkinson, who turned to regard him then give Harry a near appraising look before returning her attention to the bronze-plated telescope she and Zabini were utilizing.

"Well, Potter," Malfoy raised an eyebrow, sneering in his immediate direction, orbs glistening eerily in the dark. "Do you expect me to accomplish this project alone? I am not about to timorously accept that sort of abuse, especially from you."

What the-? Malfoy was getting stranger by the day. He'd never done such a thing in the past, and did not intend to. Why Malfoy would think so was beyond him. He heard the ominous cracking of knuckles and he glanced at its source; Zabini. Parkinson laid a consoling hand on his arm as they switched positions, achieving two things: allowing him to get within arms reach of Harry and to act as Malfoy's bodyguard. Made him wonder where Crabbe and Goyle were.

Struggling to concentrate on the task at hand, he tried to remember the point of the activity but despondently drew a blank. Malfoy, impatiently tapping a foot against the stone floor, sneered at him. Malfoy had probably expected him to start. Doubtless, the little prat was afraid of coming into close contact with any possible remnants of any other student's bodily residue.

Well, Harry didn't know what to do and he wasn't going to make himself look like an idiot before the Slytherin. Malfoy growled and laid a hand on the telescope, muttering incoherently as he moved the viewfinder from left to right, pausing at spaced intervals to attain a better view of a particular constellation. When he finally succeeded in locating Lupus, he grabbed Harry by the tie and pulled him down.

"Look."

Harry bared his teeth in a snarl but complied, though a tad bit reluctantly. Draco took a few steps away from him, retrieving a scrap of parchment, a bottle of ink and a quill from his bag. Pansy casually strolled by while dropping down to retrieve her own supplies, grinning at Draco evocatively. 

"What are you laughing at, Parkinson?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that you suit each other."

"What are you talking about, you stupid sow? Never do make sense most of the time, if not all."

"Well, he is tall dark and handsome and excluding his insipidity and ignorance towards your current situation…" 

Pansy's eyes took in her form with much scrutiny then allowed her mahogany orbs to trail off to where Potter was diligently making notes, leaning against the rough stone sill, running a frustrated hand through his hair, peering out the viewfinder then returning to his annotations.

Draco's eyes widened in disgust and revulsion at the implications of those words and her hand curled up into a fist. Faster than normal, her knuckles made contact with Pansy's stomach. She fell to the ground, clutching her stomach, her breath coming out in labored gasps.

She hadn't expected that. A biting comment, an evenly paced kick to the shins, yes, a smack to the ribs with unrestrained force behind it, well, that just wasn't Draco's style. What with the blonde knowing she didn't have much physical potency in her, that had been an absurd action. Pansy stood, retrieving her wand from her robes, she pointed it at Draco, sneering at the shorter girl. No one did that to Pansy Parkinson and got away with it.

Draco growled at her. Wait, since when did her eyes glow like that? Damnit, she looked absolutely feral. It was then that Pansy Parkinson regretted her irrationality. 

*          *           *           *           *

Hermione sniffed disappointedly at Ron, who seemed to enjoy sneaking furtive glances at her parchment, obviously assuming her lack of attention on that matter. Well, he'd have to be stealthier than that to get past her. If she didn't love him enough she'd have sworn she would have rung his neck by now. At least Harry was striving to complete his project by himself, though she did have suspicions that he wouldn't be so determined if he had been paired up with someone other than Malfoy.

She sympathized Harry's plight with inequitable educators. Yes, she would admit to that fact. She wasn't blind to such prejudice, as Ron and Harry had presupposed. Though she tried to not let the faults of the few hinder her views of all but it was getting quite difficult, struggling to find good points in each educator, though that crusade was thankless and grueling, she'd not give it up for the world. 

She needed to think that in each and every being there was something noble that was worth saving. It was what she had been born to believe and a belief she held on to in these dark times, what with Voldemort gaining an indefinite amount of power through undetermined sources and followers.

Malfoy had proven that everyone had some good in them. Well, being a girl wasn't exactly some saving-grace but it was a start. It had to be. Even Snape, she was relieved to say, had some sort of redeemable factor to him. Well, having a strange obsession with the Astronomy professor wasn't adequate in any way but it did show that Snape was capable of an emotion other that hate. Well, it was some sort of love-hate sentiment but different, nonetheless. 

It was getting absolutely arduous, finding bright points in others' psyches but rewarding nevertheless. Ron, for instance, had as many good attributes to him as well as enough unappealing ones to balance them out. But she loved him and was willing to overlook those. And Harry. She loved him as well and just couldn't pin any horrible qualities to his persona but she was sure there were some dark thoughts he kept from the rest of the world, matters he had only confided in Ron or in the recesses of his mind.

Well, indifference might be counted as an awful trait. Harry seemed too unaffected by the revelation of his worst enemy's gender. Insipidity could be one, as well. Though she cared for him, sometimes, that boy was too slow for his good. His academic skills were quite average but when it came to applying them…that was another story.

She stifled a yawn and allowed her head to fall on Ron's shoulder. He gave her a hazy smile as he proceeded to fill in his parchment with facts in his sloppy handwriting. He unconsciously rested his hand on her waist, fingers tapping out an erratic beat as he concentrated on his work, occasionally glancing at Harry's own for comparison.

What he didn't know, though, was that Harry was copying off him too. Hermione stifled a chuckle. They could be such goobs sometimes, though lovable goobs, at that. They never failed to make her laugh, in their own unintentional way. Not that she felt like telling them of their err. 

She jumped at the near-deafening crash. Ron turned towards the direction of the noise, bringing her with him. She spied Harry from the corner of her eye, calmly raising his head and with a total lack of curiosity resumed his work. Typical Harry.

When she finally glimpsed of the source of the resounding bang, she was as shocked as anyone. There was Pansy Parkinson, pointing a wand at one glowering Draco Malfoy, expression suddenly changing from one of fury to unabashed nervousness. Malfoy, on the other hand, glared at the channeling object, then without warning made a grab for it.

If there was one thing she could say about Draco, it was that she was exceedingly swift in her actions. Before one could blink, she had Pansy's wand in hand and threw it to the ground after she stared at it curiously, which in itself was strange, Malfoy was a pure-blood, wands were as customary as dressing oneself to them.

A collective gasp was uttered, she was quite astonished to hear her own horrified intake of breath in the chorus, as Malfoy made a leap at Parkinson, utterly enraged. Pansy had just enough time to widen her eyes in shock while Draco's lithe form sailed at her, knocking both girls to the ground. Pansy tumbled into a fetal position, clearly affected by the force of the impact while Malfoy landed on her palms and heels, teeth bared and eyes gleaming, positioned in an attacking posture.

She reared up, ready to attack Parkinson once more when she was snatched out of the air, mid-leap, by Zabini. He held her by the shoulders but failed to successfully detain her for she turned to face him, drew her hand up and managed to mar his visage, three shallow scratches positioned lucratively on his cheek.

He let go of her, wincing as he slapped a hand to his face, staring at Malfoy, evidently confused. She whirled around and began to circle around Pansy, intent on causing her bodily harm. 

"What in the bleedin' hell's wrong with Malfoy?"

She hated it when he swore, which was quite often, but she let the thought, or what might have been a contemplation if it hadn't been spoken by one Ronald Weasley who was a master of subtlety, go. No need to reprimand him about using such language when she herself was thinking along similar lines.

Malfoy continued to stalk Parkinson relentlessly. This made Hermione wonder what in the world Professor Sinistra was thinking, leaving teenaged students, from opposing houses, by themselves in the infamous Astronomy Tower. 

Malfoy struck again, bounding up to Parkinson, nearly hissing. 

"Oh my Lord!" Lavender let out.

Well, Hermione echoed her thoughts as well when Harry, out of nowhere, suddenly grabbed Malfoy by the scruff of her neck and locked an arm around her waist. Malfoy was breathing heavily, face a bit flushed from the exertion of her actions. She stubbornly struggled against his hold, absorbed in kicking him but her actions were completely ineffective for Harry had lifted her off the ground and she managed to come into contact with a multitude of minute particles in the air.

After struggling for a few seconds, she finally gave up and rested her head on his chest, claming down as she leant against him, apparently listening to his breathing as he set her down on the ground.

This situation was quite disturbing, to say the least. She could perceive the turning of the infamous Hogwarts Rumor Mill. Malfoy going ballistic, attacking her fellow housemates then only having Harry's much appreciated intervention from keeping her from mauling her peers. She could hear whispers behind her, even Ron wasn't exempt from the circumstance.

"Harry and Malfoy?"

"Ron, you surely don't believe that, do you?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "What am I supposed to believe, 'Mione? Just look at him and Malfoy. He even saved the little bugger's life! Something he didn't even bother to tell us!"

She gave him a distraught look. How could he think such things of his best friend? 

"Ron, please think. This is Harry here. Harry Potter who comes to the aid of the plight of all? He'd surely not have an affair with Malfoy while he's with Jaundice, now would he?"

He smirked at her. "It's Shayne this week, Hermione."

She stared up at him. "Shayne, Shayne Anders?"

He nodded. "There really is something wrong with him, isn't there?"

She slapped his arm. "Ron!"

"It certainly is true, isn't it? He's becoming a legend for what he does! They say he's coming to be more like his father and Sirius when they were his age."

"I'd like to take a psychological stand to this situation and say that he needs affection. Lack of aforementioned prerequisite has caused him to subconsciously hypothesize that such said emotion does not exist, though not for the entirety of humankind but just for himself, therefore we may conclude that…"

*          *          *          *          *

"I think she's asleep, Snape," Sirius Black smirked overbearingly at Severus Snape, who ended his tirade. 

The slimy overgrown bat couldn't simplify a story to save his hide. Who could expect a child to understand such words. Sure, they did come out of Hermione's mouth but he thought a child of her age could process those terminologies? She had a genius I.Q., as had been explained by her father but what child would take the time to process the implications of statements they did not deem important?

Snape put on one of his patented sneers, as if hearing his thoughts. This action caused Sirius to wonder what his wife had ever seen in him.

"I applaud your technique, though, having her bore herself as you ceaselessly droned on and on and on…" Sirius shrugged. "I bow down to your acumen; she was out like a light when you took over."

"I accept your praise with the intention that I may utilize it as material to further boost my ego," Snape retorted, with what Sirius and Harry had agreed on calling the patented 'you-are-lower-than-scum-in-my-eyes-and-should-be-so-since-I-think-of-you-as-such' sneer or sneer#4 for short, planted on his face.

 "You do that, Snape, considering I could never comprehend with what had run through Dumbledore's head when he decided to appoint you as a teacher."

"And I with Lily's consent to your caring for her child."

They went on as such for quite some time, nearly overlooking the fact that the child they had worked so hard to put to sleep was slumbering in the immediate vicinity.

*          *         *          *          *

Lucius Malfoy lounged on a massive garishly colored velvet-bedecked couch, its blood red hue coinciding with his present mood. He grumbled to himself as he spied his wife's lithe figure settled upon a cushion on the carpeted floor as she examined a number of photographs which she extricated from an envelope fashioned from a large piece of parchment paper. Bloody woman! After displaying her sickening elation through inappropriately squealing about while she rushed her house-elf to convene a conference with that horrid Zhuan woman, who for all her fabulous designs insisted on dressing up as a two-bit Gypsy of sorts. She had been adamant about altering Draco's rather smart-looking school trousers into garishly undersized pleated skirts! He had tried to put his foot down on that but being the persuasive woman that she was, his wife had talked-ahem, seduced- him into yielding.

"Oh, my! This would just be perfect!"

His head whirled at the sort of squealish noise and confronted its source, his wife, with a rather rankled glare.

"What is it now, Narcissa?" he snarled, muttering to himself. He was sure she was mental when he married her, but she was beautiful and a pure-blood whose ancestors could be traced to about seventy-eight generations. Yes, she fit the profile of a Malfoy bride, yes, there was also that tiny little fact that she was enamored with him and her father had offered her to him with a tremendous dowry, but that couldn't even compensate what tragedies she had done to his family.

She whirled to face him, quite gracefully at that, face glowing with something indiscernible, maybe barely suppressed excitement, and practically gleaming with pride. "Oh, Lucius! Our little Draco's interested in someone!"

That made him bolt upright. Please no, please no, Aphrodite, no! "And just who is the lucky girl? Parkinson?"

Her mouth morphed from a lovely smile into a wide O, then quickly recovering, she giggled and walked up to him, gently slapping his cheek in a reprimanding manner. "Oh you silly wizard! Of course not!"  
  


NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! Stupid boffin of a child!! Wait! His wife was prone to jumping to conclusions when it involved her little girl, most especially when it involved her daughter and a boy. That woman would have his so-er, daughter married off before she graduated, if she had her way. Damn her.

"Would you care to inform me, then, of what _is_ probable?"

"Adrian Pucey!"

He frowned. "Who?"

"The little boy who accompanied young Crabbe, Zabini and Pansy when they came to visit Draco, you silly dear. Don't tell me you've forgotten!" She giggled once more, irritating him. This was not a joyous occasion! "Yes, he is somewhat height-challenged, a few inches taller than Pansy at the most! But a fine looking young man."

She shoved a colored photograph before him, nearly causing his nose to bleed from a nearly unavoidable paper cut. He pulled his head back in order to properly examine the subject within the picture. A smarmy git looked back at him, well, he might've been biased but that didn't matter, what with the boy provocatively and incessantly raised and lowered his eyebrows, winked and showed a glimpse of blindingly white teeth without pause. Seemed a lot like that Lockhart chap he had met while his hair and nails had been attended to by Miss Tabitha in her salon.

His observation could be summarized into one word. "Ugh."

She pursed her lips while her eyebrows met in thought. "Oh, you_ are hard to please, darling. We do have another choice, as Pansy had so conveniently supplied."_

"That Parkinson woman's child's been tampering with Draco?????????" he bellowed, only to be overlapped by the boisterous din which exuded from the manor's main hallway. Loud footsteps suspiciously echoed off the carpeted marble floor. His eyes widened, only one person in the entire known universe could cause such a ruckus.

"OI, YOU BIG-EARED WATCHAMACALIT! REMOVE YOURFILTH-RIDDEN HANDS FROM MY CANE! TAKE MY CLOAK!" A pause. "WELL, YOUR LACK OF PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES DONOT CONCERN ME AND SEEING AS TO YOU'VE TAKEN ENOUGH OF MY TIME-" _Bonk!_

"Gods, no!" he mumbled while Narcissa scurried about the massive sycamore double-doors, clasping her hands to her chest animatedly.

The doors were forcefully thrown back, nearly thumping Narcissa's awfully expensive schnozzle and successfully bestowing upon Lucius a seizure of sorts at the thought of how another professionally cast nose charm would cost him.

Majestically standing beneath the massive arched doorway, amid a haze( what the fuck?) of mist like some divine being was the infamous Lucretius Malfoy, silver hair plastered to his head and done in one of those barrister-style wigs, bright purple cloak another clue as to how sane he truly wasn't.

He peered into the room as a house-elf side-stepped past him and into the room, carrying a bowl of Lucretius' favourite soup, chicken, revealing to the curious occupants the source of the ethereal-like miasma.

He stared back at his father with a deer-caught-in-headlights expression plastered on his features as his father extricated himself from Narcissa's embrace and thundered his way to his son. "WELL, DON"T JUST STAND THERE! COME AND GIVE YOUR FATHER A HUG!"

He sneered. "Good evening, Father."

His father stood there, arms still outstretched. 

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

Lucretius shrugged, not put off in any way and set out to looking about the room and at the terraces protruding from the floors above. "Where's that child of yours? I'm sure it would appreciate a hug. It's friend to, Poopsy?"

Narcissa trilled out a musical laugh. "Oh, no, Father. She isn't here right now. She's in school, with _Pansy_."

"Prissy?"

"Pansy."

"Poppy?"

"Pansy."

"Pippi?"

"Pan-"

"Will the both of you kindly close your mouths?!?!?!"

Lucretius shook his head and tsk-ed to himself, leaning close to Narcissa and stage-whispering, "I've always thought that son of mine was a dramatist."

Narcissa giggled.

"Where's that grandchild of mine then?!"

Lucius sneered. "At a proper educational facility, seeing as to it is November and Draco will not be appearing 'til late December."

"Has that child of yours yielded me a great grandson as of late?"

Lucius and Narcissa's mouths simultaneously dropped open but to a level of respite, the latter recovered promptly and concealed her shock with an empathetic grin. "Oh, Father, really. Our little Draco's just a young girl, now-"

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT I'VE A GRANDDAUGHTER??!"

The Malfoy patriarch's resounding outraged outburst echoed in his son and daughter-in-law's ears. Causing both to wince, one in shame, the other in pain.

Lucius winced as he the inevitable had loomed its unsightly head. This was why he loathed his father's visits, impromptu or forewarned. He had to live through the shame of his failure. "Yes, Father. Draco is indeed your grand_daughter_, as you've been informed of-"

"Has she met a spouse deemed suitable to bear the Malfoy lineage and name?!"

Yes, speechlessness and utter perplexity only occurred to Lucius Malfoy whenever his father was around. Those years chasing Lethifolds all over Africa had finally affected his father's previously unstable mental competence. After all, this was the man who had bonked him on his head with his cane, ruining his pristine hairstyle, when the MediWitches refused to allow him into the delivery room which Narcissa, driven near-fanatical with pre-maternity syndrome, occupied, voracious shrieks enveloping the entire floor.

Narcissa took this momentary pause on her husband's part to shove the photo of that Pucey boy in his father's face.

"What's this, then, eh?!"

His father apparently viewed speaking in a moderate tone of voice as an impediment.

"The young man Draco seems to be taken with, of course!"

His father scrutinized the moving photograph for a second before yel-ahem, stating his none-too flattering opinion of the boy. "RATHER HUGE TEETH, AREN'T THEY?! REMINDS ME OF A RABBIT I ONCE KNEW!"

His ears were about prepared to bleed at the deafening sound of Lucretius' blaring vocal chords but a part of himself, no, maybe more-hell, all of him to be precise, couldn't help but agree.

"Oh, Father," Narcissa sighed, pouting in a frustrated albeit beckoning manner. "Snipping at your granddaughter's future husband will achieve nothing other than complicate matters further."

"DRACO WILL DO NO SUCH THING!!!"

That was it, the last straw. Silently plotting his societal defeat was one thing but involving his father was quite another. He marched across the room, plucked the obtrusive item from his father's fingers and ripped it into shreds, oblivious to the house-elf which rushed in to quickly tidy up the carpeted floor.

"Couldn't have done better myself! Glaring teeth was giving me a headache!"

Narcissa harrumphed, fuming silently when she suddenly brightened, sending an ominous chill down her husband's spine, her father-in-law completely unaware of the situation as he entertained himself by yelling threats at the house-elf and throwing crystal objects at the creature.

"Dear, if you didn't like the boy you might as well could have just stated such! We do have another choice, as young Pansy has cheerfully supplied."

Lucius observed her retreating figure, appreciating the grace in his wife's graceful movements when the implications of her words finally reached him. Bleeding hell, no!!!!!!! Vacuous Parkinson child!!!

He leaned onto a wall, fingers fiddling with his cane apprehensively as Narcissa began to approach him, bearing another photograph. This one was unposed as compared to the previous one. The subject had his back turned to the camera but gradually turned to face him, as if studying its surroundings.

Two unbelievably large green eyes met his, causing him to drop the picture in shock.

"It's Harold Potter!" his wife squealed.

Lucius slumped to the floor, head banging on an ancient ornately-worked side-table, near unconscious, silently muttering curses under his breath while he imagined beating his daughter's head in with his beloved cane for her insolence.

*         *         *         *         *

**A/N:** We'd like to thank NayNymic and Lanevaly for drawing our attention to Bran's various errors in the first part of the chapter. **Harry doesn't know that Draco's a girl yet. And Draco's dad's name is Lucretius, not Lucrecious as Bran so forgot to proof-read when she typed up this chapter. Stupid Bran! Lestat wrote the next one so hopefully it won't be as confusing as this one but we don't think she's proofread that either. And to Shinri, thank you for drawing our attention to something previously mentioned in the prologue. You'll be getting the next chappie for free! Roght, like anyone'd pay for this shit… ****But we did mean our mentioning Harry's defeat of Voldemort in the present not in the future. But thanks and to anyone, please, if you can even recall it, please tell us!!!!!!**


	9. Chapter Eight

THE OPPOSITE of SEX 

By: DaDomz (Branw3nand Lestat)

DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.

WARNINGS:

1.) This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand.

2.) Also an R/Hr fic so be warned!

3.) Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.

**Authors' Note: **This is Bran. This chapter has been sitting around in my computer for months and I really didn't feel like editing this. This is Lestat's chapter and I only started on a few paragraphs before I gave up and just let it be. I might get around to editing this later but not right now.****

**Chapter 8: More Coin-spiracies**

The green moss chair, a remnant of the former Slytherin occupants, sat unobtrusively in the midst of the outsized defense complex on the northern end of the Slytherin Prefect's Common Room. Midnight had come and gone. The stream of callers had faded to a trickle, then halted. 

At that moment, Draco Malfoy sat alone, relieved at having managed to ensconce a few private moments for herself, a sanctuary fro the ebullient hassle of the day, time reserved for solitary contemplation. Minutes of idle reflection passed as she indolently examined the near-full scrap of parchment covered in neat even script that she had laid before herself an hour ago. Repulsed at her state of rest, lethargy was highly unacceptable in Malfoy Manor. She began gathering her belongings and meticulously arranging them in her bag. She stood and shouldered her backpack when she heard the creak of a door's rusty hinges.

She looked up to be met with Adrian Pucey's hypnotic visage. He afforded her a confused glance as he rubbed his sleep tousled hair in a manner much too reminiscent of Potter to be considered adorable. She gave him a small smile which he returned as his hand proceeded to massage his neck.

"You're still here because…"

Right. A tad bit impolite but considering his current sleep-addled situation, she might be driven to let it pass though her upbringing went against it. Tactlessness was a sign of a mediocre lineage. But it wasn't as if she were considering taking him home to her family or somesuch. That was quite laughable.

"As you can clearly see by my packed bag, I was just about to leave, Adrian," she replied curtly yet pleasantly enough to be warranted as amiable.

"Stay."

She furrowed her brow, containing the frown that threatened to creep into her countenance. Confusion was evident in her features, marring her near-seraphic features. She shifted her eyes to look up at him. He really wasn't much taller than her, short, really, compared to normal standards. But Malfoys were known to have an affinity for the unique, well only if it looked good.

"Why?" she voiced, restraining the instinctive urge to bite her upper lip. Pansy had told her that made her seem coy and Malfoys were anything but, especially if one wanted to remain on Lucius Malfoy's good side. She didn't want to have her father hear of her being coy, the word enough brought an image of that Gryffindor, Brown or something, batting her eyelids at the Irish Gryffindor while running her fingers over his arm. No, she was anything but some plaything.

"I'd rather appreciate your company. I've been thinking of heading to the Kitchens and having a snack. I'd very much enjoy the amity." His smile turned into one of evocativeness.

A faint blush tinged her cheeks; she only hoped it weren't so obvious. Complexion similar to hers reacted quite horrendously when coupled with easily flushed pigments. Well, that was forthright about that and she could clearly read into his intentions as well. She wasn't as credulous as Pansy made her out to be. Pucey wanted her company, maybe even have his fingers flutter over her hand or arm and maybe kiss her cheek by the end of the night.

Ha! She wasn't niave!

_'Ahem, right-' _Pansy's high-pitched voice echoed in her head, interrupting her thoughts. She intuitively squashed it down until it became an incessant buzzing which she could ignore, a talent which could be attributed to years of companionship with Parkinson.

He smiled at her as he approached, lumbering down the rest of the steps and halting next to the table she occupied. She smiled up into her face while shaking her head. "I would love to yet it seems I've to finish this extra-credit report Professor Snape expects from me. It's to be on his desk at seven this morning, you see, I can't go around disappointing my Godfather."

"You're avoiding me, aren't you, Malfoy?" He let out an amused sort of laugh.

She knit her brows together. He had never seemed this arrogant before but she was one to talk. They had the same sort of upbringing at it was only to be expected. She let it pass, as she had the others, though she wondered if she was finding more excuses for him. No, he was a friend and she could always have fortitude to seek the good in them.

"No, really," she insisted. "Professor Snape had requested I submit this on time and I've only six hours of sleep before the deadline comes." She had so hoped the mention of her Godfather would cause him to withdraw his advances. She wasn't quite ready for any just yet, maybe friendship but never some sort of relationship. She had promised her Father that she would relinquish her present life for the one prepared for her once those experts managed to discover some solution to her Father's problem; her. A lot of stipulations but it was quite possible for all of those to go the way her Father had planned. Luck had been kind to the family, take her Father's renege on his oaths to the Dark Lord once he realized he was on the losing side, and soon after Harry Potter's defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

That smile widened, if it were even possible as he leaned even closer, the tip of his shoes nearly touching hers. Well, if it was one thing Draco Malfoy knew much about, it was personal space, and right now Adrain certainly was invading it. She wasn't one to step down to a challenge so she took his intimidation in stride and looked up at him, his closeness causing her to utilize her neck in order to properly view him. She hated doing this as it reminded her of her diminutive stature and this was one position Harry Potter, arch-nemesis extraordinaire, always found her in. Him looking down on her, which she absolutely hated.

"Intimidated?"

She sneered, though a tad bit reserved than usual. "Really, Pucey, I'm leaving, though thank you for the invitation."

With that she turned on her heel and vacated the Common Room, _intent on escap_-no, heading towards her own room which she entered without much haste, _right, she could have outrun a cheetah at the rate she was going,_ and firmly shut the door, _banged it right off its hinges, actually._

She absolutely abhorred that Parkinson voice in her subconscious.

 She set her belongings down on a mahogany desk and plopped down on the large bed covered in a Ralph Lauren emerald green cotton bedspread that it looked down on. She kicked off her shoes, engaged on having them settle on the floor in a haphazard manner before the dignified order in which she took everything in reared its head, having her gather the aforementioned footwear and lay them next to her wardrobe. She then began peeling off her clothes and folding them into a wicker hamper for the house elves to launder.

Donning a garishly pink pyjama set that her mother had sent, she walked towards her study table as she tied her hair into a short stub of a ponytail and began examining her essay. 

She bit into her quill absently, stroking its plumage as she stared down at the scroll. Frowning, she removed an Astrology book from her bag and flipped it open. She and Potter had agreed that a division of the work was necessary seeing as to their abysmal abhorrence of one another prevented the production of quality work. She had already done her share of the work, five constellations with their respective background histories. She was to rendezvous with Potter at the Library at two this afternoon to compare notes and merge their reports into a respectable sort of project.

She regarded the parchment blankly, its contents not registering in the slightest and she set down her quill in surrender, contemplating on the upcoming events for the day. Meeting Potter at the Library where there would be less of a chance of people to notice them had been a smart decision. Only Granger ever occupied the Library on weekends.

Ahh… Yes, Potter, that pathetic excuse of a hero. How she hated him, he walked the halls as if he owned it, strutting his cute little arse and having every female-wait a minute, cute? 

Draco's eyes widened before she shook her head vigorously and flipped the pages of the hardbound edition hastily. "Think of Pucey! Arggh! No, Constellations! Constellation, constellation, constellation," she muttered softly. "Ahh…here it is… Corona Borealis, great! Corona Borealis." 

"Draco!" The oak doors opened abruptly, and Draco, in her haste, gyrated a hundred and eighty degrees and fell hard on the marble floor, banging her left hip and cheekbone in the process. "Oh My God, Are you okay? Oh, Oh… I'm sorry!" 

Draco exhaled arduously, a bit too ostentatiously for authenticity before blinking away tears of pain. "I'm perfectly fine… just okay, outrageously perfect… if you consider a broken hip bone, black and blue bruises on my hips and strikingly sharp pain in my butt Great but other than that, everything's just peachy." 

Draco didn't know who was more amazed, she or Pansy, either in the acrimony of the power of speech even in the impending times of misfortune. 

"I'm sorry," Pansy pouted, then grinned. "Peachy? Anyway, Blaise and I are going to Hogsmeade. You do remember that it's Hogsmeade weekend, do you? I just thought that the three of us-No wait! The five of us, with Greg and Vince… at any rate we can feast in the Three Broomsticks and talk… You know—similar to old times." 

"I don't think so." Draco shook her head. "Public, not ready for it yet." 

"But Potter will be there." Pansy grinned appraisingly. "With the Mudblood and the Weasel, not that they would matter. Wouldn't that be just peachy?" 

Draco glowered at Pansy, eyes narrowing at the taunt. "And what are you trying to imply? I don't give a damn about Potter or any of the sniveling fans that follow him around like he's some god of some sorts. And I will break your petty pug-like face as hard as I can just like I did last night if that topic ever comes up again. And just so you know, he won't be there. He'll be in the Library, with me." 

Pansy sighed but secretly hid a triumphant smile. "Fine, you needn't bang my head into the gutter once again, I was just joking Draco, there is no need to resort to violence. And I won't even mention the implications in your last statement." 

"Like Hell." Draco mumbled, vacating her gilded throne-like seat and approaching her bed, leaning on the post a bit, fumbling with the jade velvet drapery. 

'What I don't get was why you were so touchy about it, I mean, shouldn't you have dismissed it as a joke?" Pansy cocked an eyebrow. "Like how they used to tease me with you after the Yule Ball." 

"We were friends but this one...It's a sick joke and its prospects nauseates me." Draco had a constipated look on her face. "Heinous indeed." 

"That's how you act when you're in love, constipated." Pansy winked. "Go ahead, repeat after me, I am in love." 

"Haha. Very funny." She deadpanned. "Anyway," She switched to another topic. "Is Adrian going as well?"

"Pucey?" A strand of stray blonde hair fell to a fringe over her eye as she smiled. "You mean, Good ol' Adrian Pucey with the cute smile and the cute smirk and the one who defended you when you were six?" 

"Defended me when I was six?" Draco asked. "What do you mean? And the Powers-That-Be might as well have given him his looks as consolation for his intelligence." 

"Oh now, childish thing really, we used to tease you because no matter how much your mummy dear tried to make you realise your gender, you never did come to your senses and he came to the rescue telling us all to shove off… I think he had a crush on you, still has probably." Pansy smiled. "And anyhow, a brain isn't much when you've the accounts his father's will states he will inherit. You can always have him bombarded with tutors." 

"Right, if he ever passes the N.E.W.T.S.," Draco struggled to suppress a smile. "And yes, that same Adrian." 

"He can come if you like," Pansy considered it a while. "Will you come if he does?" 

"Of course not, I was just inquiring." 

"Really? Draco Malfoy, is that a smile?" 

"No, you're imagining things." 

"That is a smile!" 

"Isn't, I was just asking since Adrian seems to be… appearing everywhere now-a-days, it seems that I'm gaining a secondary shadow, the one that you don't see but appears every time you least expect it?" 

Pansy giggled. "Stalker is a fine word to use for that situation but a stalker in a not bizarre way but in a ROMANTIC way rather." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Never mind, well, at least you know it's a shadow and not a boulder." 

"What do you mean?" 

"You're repeating yourself, people in love are always repeating. Anyway, you know… your two loyal henchmen, I suggest they go fuck themselves as to have a little fun, don't you think?" 

"Thank you, Pansy. Now get out, I need to finish this constellation research for tonight." 

"Oh fine, always the industrious one, you are." Pansy rolled her eyes as she closed the door silently. "I hope you have a wonderful midnight rendezvous plan for the evening with Mr. H. Potter." 

Pansy silently thanked the Fates that she closed the door before the sound of a crystalline vase shattering reverberated behind her. But that didn't halt the grin that crept up her face. Draco, torn between two boys, sounded far better to her ears that an apathetic Draco who had no qualms whatsoever against marrying members of the similar sex. The plan would have a tendency to backfire, leaving Draco heartbroken enough to swear off men forever and marry her anyway but that was highly improbable. _Mrs. Pansy Parkinson-Zabini, here I come!!!_

D/H~D/H~D/H~D/H

"I'm amazed Malfoy, not with your peers on their trip to Hogsmeade?" Harry set the hardbound book beside Malfoy's elbow. The blond peered over his shoulder and amazed Harry with the half-moon reading glasses situated on the bridge of his nose. 

Malfoy rolled his shoulders gracefully and flipped the book in a delicate manner. "I don't really like going out, how about you Potter, what happened to your two sidekicks? Did they finally decided to give in to their carnal lusts and turn the Gryffindor Common Room into a hell hole of moaning that you decided to leave and come join your _worst-hated-arch-enemy_? I'm beginning to suspect that you're dreadfully ill and I don't really want to lose my most favoured enemy." 

Hah, great excuse. 

The insult sounded hollow, Harry dismissed it directly as a misheard comment and sat down. "I'm looking for one more constellation, what about you, done?" 

"Not that it's any of your business but yes, I'm done." He sneered. "Andromeda, Corona Borealis, Canis Minor, Cassiopeia and Cetus and that's about it and I expect you to arrive on time plus…" 

Malfoy's sneer faded away carefully, as did his words as his lips tilted into a smile. He moved his upper body idly towards the right, grey eyes widening. Harry was about to ask what he was staring at but Malfoy abruptly moved back to his original position and pulled open a book to cover his flushed face. 

Harry's brows furrowed as a figure approached. A figure Harry recognised was one of the Slytherin Chasers-Pucey? Yes, that's it. Harry stared at Pucey and then at Malfoy, a scrutinizing expression on his features. 

Pucey seemed to have razor sharp eyes as his eyes instinctively landed on Malfoy. He whistled carefully and approached the blond. 

"Hullo, Draco." 

The only response Harry heard was a squeak. Harry could feel an emotion swirling in his mind, perhaps jealousy? No, it couldn't be, he was Harry Potter and he did not have things for boys. Especially for fragile, petite, feminine, angelic looking boys… Oh who was he kidding?

Call it a fetish for dwarfish kind of boys. No, on second thought, call it a fetish for feminine boys; no let me correct that, feminine, beautiful, whiny and sarcastic short boys like Malfoy. It was just a phase; it's bound to disappear, right? 

No bloody way! That's impossible, Harry Potter was meant to be straight. As straight as a bean pole, Harry Potter did not associate with poufs and pansys like Draco. No, he did associate with poufs and pansys but only for a short while like for an assignment and there's no way in hell that he'll fall for a queer. Nope, not Harry Potter, the Wizarding World's saviour, the Gryffindor pride... errm... whatever.

"Pucey, what are you doing here?" Harry asked. "If you're too thick to see anything, we are both researching on our project. I do not need you disturbing Malfoy." 

"Who died and made you Minister?" Pucey smirked. "Oi, Draco, what do you reckon about the new tactic I asked Pansy to show you? How are you, by the way? That was a nasty fall you took, I'm sorry." 

"That new method was good but I've some embellishments to add but thank you for thinking about my…erm… fall, that's very kind of you but it wasn't your fault, bloody Bludger, I wasn't paying attention, too." Malfoy coughed. "I really have to work on my research now, though." 

"It's a bugger that you got Potter for a partner, I flailed my arms around last night in hopes that you'd take notice," Pucey grinned-_Hold on, was Pucey flirting with Malfoy? Did I miss something?_

"Such crap luck to have Potter, the paragon of the holier than thou cliché as a partner." 

Malfoy shrugged. "I agree." Harry silently gnashed his teeth. "But I'm fine as you can see; Potter and I aren't disagreeing-yet. See you in practice this Monday."

Pucey leaned towards the blond and whispered in his ear, causing him to flush rather prettily. 

D/H~D/H~D/H~D/H

"You will surely look better in a skirt than in trousers, what about you trying on one of them for a change?" He whispered, breath tickling, her cheek. Draco felt her face flush, the horror of it all, especially since Potter was right in front of her. 

"Pucey, shut up." Draco stuck her tongue out. "You don't know anything." 

"Indeed I don't, forgive me." Adrian winked. Draco groaned inwardly. Adrian had his way with smiles-wonderful, cute smiles they truly were. That was just the problem though, Adrian, though oh-so-gorgeous, seemed to be so hilariously dim when the subject happened to involve anything with even the least amount of academics and logic in it, but who cared? 

He was a charmer, good and nice teeth rivaling Potter's. Adrian certainly exuded confidence, though shallow, at least depicting him of Potter's dumbass charms and supposing if they were to get married, education didn't matter for Pucey since he was as rich as Draco and could provide money that would last them both 5 life times and...

Draco stared at her parchment in shock. First of all, her gender revelation happened in less than a month and her first crush developed only a few days ago in quidditch practice (Excluding Maculay Culkin in "the good son") and now, she was practically thinking-no, drooling over marriage with Pucey... how pathetic?

"Why don't you go join Vince, Greg, Pansy and Blaise, they're in three broomsticks," Draco shrugged her shoulders. "You know, they were expecting you to be there to enjoy, Slytherin gatherings." 

"Because you're not there." Adrienne smiled, once again. 

  
Draco's brows furrowed. "So what if I'm not with Vince, Greg, Pansy and Blaise?" 

"It's not quite the same." Pucey replied. "Anyway, I have to go, Later." 

Draco sighed satisfied and smiled before shaking her head and staring onto the book. She didn't even know what she was writing anymore. Okay, so maybe it was a stupid crush on Pucey but that's the point, they were silly and ridiculous and generally not based on reason. That's the whole purpose of having a crush. 

Just to have someone to admire and swoon over but you never want anything more to happen, if you do, it's not a crush anymore. It's just something you like, really, for Draco, she openly admits by now that she likes men with dark hair and tanned complexion, a height towering over her. That's probably because she wants somebody to implement control over her, not the other way around. (It takes guts to admit it, though)

After all, If Granger had a crush on Lockhart first, it wouldn't be that bad, after all, Lockhart was a big loser. Didn't Potter flip for Chang, she was a year older for god's sake and she wasn't even attractive. And what about Finnigan, he liked Patil whose mouth challenged a muggle chainsaw and Weasley! Hah! Tall and lanky Weasley falling for a bushy-haired buck-tooth or perhaps.

And then there was Pansy's first crush, Crabbe, See? Pansy liked strong and masculine guys but as soon as Pansy figured out the Crabbe couldn't talk, well, that turned her off directly. And Blaise, Blaise's first crush was well… It was Millicent Bullstrode. 

So, It was bound to be ridiculous. Just like how she liked Potter-I mean, Pucey. 

"Malfoy, You fancy him don't you?" 

Draco stared at the ceiling, forgetting about the other occupant in the table, not even caring that he talked. Draco nodded carefully before chuckling. "But that's just the point, it's stupid." 

Harry shrugged. "I don't really think so." 

"Why not?" Draco frowned. "You know, crushes are supposed to be stupid. Take Young Weaslette for example, she's been having a big crush on you and well, it's ridiculous." 

This time, it was Harry, who frowned. "Why is it ridiculous?" 

"Well, to start off, I think it's very obvious for you to end up with each other." Draco chuckled. "And then-wait a minute, why am I talking to you this!" 

"Okay, Fine, then." Harry huffed. "I was just making a conversation, you don't have to act like there's a wand shoved up your arse." 

"I don't have a wand shoved far up my arse!" 

"There seems to be one." 

Draco's left eye twitched before silently exhaling. "Whatever, I'm leaving." And before she can stand up, Harry grabbed her hand. 

"Look, we're never going to have our project worked out fine if none of us would stop bickering, what do you say? Truce?" Harry extended a hand and looked hopefully. 

"Why should I take it?" Draco sneered. "You didn't accept my hand the first time around." 

"Well, you insulted my friend." Harry countered. 

"I wouldn't have insulted your pet Weasel if he didn't insult me first." Draco defended. "I would've simply left him alone, I even ignored him even if I was itching to criticise him but does he even reconsider? No! He still manages to laugh at my name, We're talking about fairness here."

"I'm not talking about life time friendship here, it's just a temporary truce! We have to spend time with each other you know and fighting won't make up for the time!" Harry exclaimed. "Can't we have at least a single decent conversation?" 

Draco stared at the extended hand in front of her. The palms were slightly rough, knuckles callused and blue veins travelling from the base of his palms to his wrists, Harry Potter's hands were manly, much too manly. In fact, it looked better beside Pucey's…

She rolled her eyes and finally gave a sigh, exaggerating a bit, to make it sound like it was the biggest sacrifice she was about to make. "Oh fine Potter but this doesn't mean I'm going to lay off your friends… this truce expires at the end of the week." 

And she took those fine hands and for some reason, the deep musky scent of grass and ground engulfed her, strangely reminding her of quidditch. She it away instantly and shook her head slightly before catching a short glimpse of the tall and lean boy-no, not anymore-man. 

"Malfoy? Malfoy?"

Finally, snapping out of her daze, she looked up. "What?" 

"Are you okay? You had this weird look in your face." Harry pointed out, a hint of concern in his deep voice. Draco stared at him, frowning a bit, wondering when Harry's voice sounded... undesccribable-but in a completely good way. 

"I was thinking of something," She waved her hand and stared at the book. "I'm going to research on another subject now, you can leave if you want to." 

"It's okay, I'll stay here." Harry smiled. "And oh, Ginny used to have a crush on me but that was back then, he's into Collin now, right after the Yule ball in 4th year where Neville took her." 

"Weasley and Longbottom, I"d rather throw up." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, what's wrong with her tastes? Longbottom is too far out, he's too much of a klutz and Creevey is way too intimidating." 

"You don't insult my friends in front of me." Harry frowned. "That's just rude, I don't insult your pug-faced friend and your cronies." 

"Well, now you are insulting them." Draco slammed the book shut. "I said I'd keep civil with you, not with your friends. They are none of my concern, I don't like them and they don't like me either and that's that. I have my reasons and you have yours and the within the night, they have the stars and clouds by day." 

"Did you get that from some poem?" Harry blinked.

"You know what, you are a waste of my time!" She exclaimed loudly. "I am leaving you, I am sorry but I lose my manners quickly and I will not tolerate dim-witted idiots like you!" 

D/H~D/H~D/H~D/H

"Damn." Harry cursed silently as he flipped through the crisp pages of the thick hardbound book and searched thoroughly for the last constellation. After 300 pages of skimming, no other constellation looked fitting for his last research. 

"I'm glad you have yourself buried into books." 

Harry lowered the moldy book and stared at Hermione's warm brown eyes. He grinned and shook his head as the girl settled herself next to Harry. 

"I want to study but I don't do it all the time, I heard it's not good for your health." He teased. Hermione rolled her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. "How did hogsmeade go and where's Ron? Hold on... you're both not together... does that mean that you're both having a... let's say... lover's tiff?" 

Hermione playfully shoved him. "No... Well, Yes... but... well, it's just a stupid fight, I mean, I wouldn't lend Ron a sickle and he got mad and left me in Hogsmeade." 

"Why didn't you let him?" Harry asked. "A sickle isn't too much, you get more than that!" 

"I would not unless it's for something useless and a subscription? Of some quidditch magazines?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "I do not find it funny that Ron buys these quidditch magazines... A book would be better... I don't care what book, just as long as he'd learn something from it. I'd say, quidditch magazines don't let you pass the NEWTS with flying colours!" 

"Well, at least it isn't a magazine of naked women with big bosoms." Harry murmured and realised what big mistake he had said and pulled out the book from the table and pretended to be interested in a certain page. 

"Oh..." Hermione giggled girlishly. "Oh... my god!" She squealed. "I didn't know you were interested in girls... the only girl I know you were last intrested in was Cho and then Ron concluded that you were gay and here you are talking about nude!" 

"Well," Harry said grudgingly as he gently set the book on his lap. "Dudley has a lot of those and well, I came across it... What? I'm old enough for crying out loud... even super heroes have vices! Which brings me to the topic, why does my sidekick know so much about this?" 

It was Hermione's turn to flush. "Well... age... it carries though." 

Harry chuckled. 

"What?" Hermione looked abashed. "You didn't think I was that ignorant now, do you? Sex is just like Neville's parents." 

Harry coughed. "Hermione, you can't talk about that casually when you're 17." 

Hermione shrugged. "I'm just making a point, it's like Neville's parents... everyone knows about it but they don't make a fuss about it." 

Harry nodded. "Whatever, I'm going to study and you better make up with Ron, I think you were over-re-acting." 

Hermione sighed. "You think?" 

"Yes." Harry nodded, once again. "I don't think, I know." 

Hermione stood up. "Yeah, you're right... Should I wait or go look for him?" 

"He's bound to show up." Harry shook his head with amusement. "Anyway, I'm hungry and I missed supper, maybe I can ask Dobby for some food. I better be going, I think I'm going to stay up until dawn tonight with Malfoy." 

"Oh," Hermione said darkly. "Malfoy, the little bugger." 

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, but he can be decent most of the times." 

Hermione looked at Harry suspiciously and dismissed the 'he' slip-up with hunger. "Decent? I think not, just an advice, direct from me to you, don't get yourself too attached, ferret-face, as you know, is an agent of the dark lord and you never know..." 

Harry shook his head, he tried to remember if there was a mark on Draco's wrist. He pulled the book and shook his head once again. "Thanks for your advice Herm, I'll keep that in mind." He sighed and stood in front of the common room exit. "Oh and Herm, here's my advice, direct from me to you." He turned around. "Just make sure that the knowledge you have about those mature things would be kept to a minimum, I don't want you to make babies with Ron before you graduate." 

D/H~D/H~D/H~D/H

Gregory stared at the parchments intricately attached with a silver bobbie pin. He stared at it, fascinated and picked it up. The pin glittered immaculately underneath the dim lighting of Draco's private dorms. He guffawed, truly amused of the invention. 

"Goyle, put my paper clip down." Draco shook her head, smiling. "It's a paper clip, a muggle invention. Paper-clip, it holds papers so that it won't be messy." 

"Paper clip." Gregory repeated. "Wow." 

"You can have it." Draco smiled. "I have a lot of that, you can take as much as you want... it's over the left drawer... yes, the bottom most... great... pull that pink box and open the lid carefully--I said carefully! You broke the lock! Don't worry, I'll fix it... yeah, see... the paper clip comes in different colours but I prefer silver." 

"We got you something!" Pansy's head popped from the door. "There's a lot of cockroach clusters, Vince grabbed them for you saying that he felt so... hollow walking through Hogsmeade's streets without their little brainiac." 

Draco stared at Pansy as she settled the package on the coffee table. "Aww... isn't that sweet, Goyle, do you like those paper clips?" 

Greg nodded dumbly, stuffing his breast pocket with paper clip. "Paper... wawassit again? Paper tip? No, paper kit?" 

"Paper clip." Pansy and Draco corrected. 

"You're free to look around my dorm room except my bathroom." Draco pointed at the door. "And also... that little box over there, yeah, don't touch that... there's a coin that's really valuable that's inside... Goyle, hand it to me." 

Goyle pulled the box and handed it to Draco, heaving a sigh of relief for not breaking it.

"What coin?" Pansy asked. "I never thought of you keeping a galleon in a little box." 

"It's not a galleon... It's like a traditional coin... for the Malfoy's." Draco paused. "I don't know why Potter had it but... I don't know... I just took it back." 

"Do you think Potter's a klepto?" Pansy asked. "Or better yet, you gave it to him unconciously." 

"Oh bugger off." Draco rolled her eyes. "I will never give that git a single penny." 

"What do you remember of it?" Pansy asked. "Surely, there's a history." 

"I could remember..." Draco closed her eyes. "I received it for a present, not mum's or dad's... it's my grandfather's coin. It's a golden coin with the Malfoy crest engraved and some intricate designs that I know nothing of." She opened it. "The last time I remember holding it was when... I went..." 

"Go on..." Pansy prodded.   
  
"It's stupid, it's probably a dream." Draco shrugged and pulled the parchment. "I should go eat, I'm hungry." 

"You didn't eat yet?" Pansy asked. "Anyway, I don't care, tell me first..." 

"Look," Draco said, irritated. "The coin is irrelevant, it was a stupid dream really. Father, for one thing, never associated with muggles but since he had some business to do there... he went to this family and well, this family had a little fat boy for me to play with and he was certainly ugly and huge." She paused, smiling. "He reminds me of a little whale. When I refused to play with the fat lump, he walked away muttering something about shiny red trucks and I saw this cupboard." 

Pansy smiled. "Then?" 

"This cupboard... it was tiny, the paint chipped an all." She held onto the box. "And... Aww... come on Pansy, it's ridiculous." Draco looked down. "It's ridiculous." 

"It isn't." Pansy assured her. "For all you know, it might not be a dream at all." 

"Anyway," Draco sighed. "There was this little boy, living under the cupboard. We talked for a while and he told me I was pretty. I wasn't used to be called pretty... I was never called pretty by some one innocent. He was probably our age Pansy and I was 5 then. I talked to him about wanting to be Potter's friend." She smiled wistfully. "He told me Potter was lucky then... to have a friend like me." She looked up. "I let him go," She whispered. "The only boy who said I was pretty." 

"How about Adrienne?" Pansy asked. 

"Fuck Pucey," Draco exclaimed. "I'm talking about something more than a silly crush Pansy, he... he said I was pretty... do you know how much that means to me? I know I sound so pathetic but he said that Potter was lucky to be my friend... and look at me now, I'm not even close to be called his friend. This boy, if I feel sad Pans, he's the one that makes me remember that the sun would shine for me one day." 

Pansy stared at the dungeon walls. "You'll meet him one day." 

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "But the irony is, Pans, I gave that boy a coin." She opened the lid of the box and pulled the coin out. "This coin, I gave it to him..." She smiled. "I gave this bloody coin and he probably traded it to Potter for a galleon... no, shillings. Pansy, that bloody hurts you know, I gave this coin up for him and he sells it." 

"There must be a good reason." Pansy shrugged. "One, he must've been starving and Two, he needed money." 

"You're right." Draco held onto the coin. "I'd better go and get some food, I'm starving." 

Draco turned around and headed towards the door. "Draco?" Draco turned, once again and faced Pansy, who held a sweater (Was it?). "Where'd you get this?" Draco racked her head hard and stared at the cloak before pulling it towards her. 

"I'm about to return it." She explained and secured the bundle. "I'll get going." 

D/H~D/H~D/H~D/H

Harry held on to the goblet in his hands and chewed on the shepherd pie. It was certainly a meal to enjoy. He smiled and drank from the goblet, raising it and met Dobby's eye. The entrance door opened and a blurry vision of a blonde entered. A beautiful female blonde who kneeled down to talk to Dobby. 

"Do you have more food?" She heard him say. Harry cursed silently, wishing that he had upgraded his glasses to get a closer view of the blonde. "I'm hungry, I totally forgot about dinner and skipped it." 

Dobby muttered something and walked away. The blonde slowly approached Harry and realised that it wasn't in fact a blonde but a blond. It wasn't beautiful and it was certainly a Malfoy. 

"Potter, didn't know you'd be here." He shrugged and sat down. "Look," She handed the sweater back. "I don't want to know what happened, don't remind me but I'd like to thank you... for whatever you have done..." She paused. "It's very noble, I didn't think you'd do something like that for me." 

Harry nodded, chewing onto his shepherd pie that suddenly tasted like saw dust. Wow, how moods change. 

"Anyway," he paused and smiled at the house elf that handed him his food. "I'd like to first know about the coin you got..." 


End file.
